


Fire & Brimstone

by moonside



Series: Incubus AU [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angstober, Ball Gags, Biting, Blindfolds, Blood Play, Bondage, Bulge Kink, Collars, Deepthroating, Domesticity, Edging, Fisting, Food Play, Heartbeat Kink, Kinktober 2017, Lapdances, Leashes, M/M, Medical Kink, Mirrors, Nipple Play, Oops, Orgasm Denial, PTSD, Piercings, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Promptis - Freeform, Rimming, Rough Sex, Serial killer-ish, Sex Toys, Spanking, Subspace, Tentacles, Trauma, Wax Play, cosplay/crossdressing, facesitting, i can't believe i'm tagging that in a fic, i made it sad, incubus au, sadism/masochism, uhh mild necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 172,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: The increasingly domestic adventures of Incubus Noctis and Incubus Prompto, and their emotional support pygmy malboro, Squishy.(A shameless series of interconnected ficlets/drabbles, written for the Kinktober 2017 prompts in collaboration w/ numinoceur's Promptober/Noctober art. It started as pure PWP but now there's a story and character development and background, oops, how did that happen?)





	1. Sleepy Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 prompt: sleepy sex <3

Noctis is asleep and that’s nothing unusual. 

Prompto likes to groan and grumble about it, of course. He tries to tell Noctis that beings who are insatiable sex daemons ideally don’t spend so much time curled up in bed and passed out. Last time it had happened, though, Noctis had just smiled this super dorky smile he gets when he’s sleepy, and curled an arm around Prompto’s waist, and dragged him in.

Noct’s just lucky he didn’t their horns tangled that time or Prompto swears he would’ve staged an intervention. That has happened too many times to count.

Right now, of course, Prompto is bored. 

It’s a crisp fall day, and okay, he might be a sex daemon, but that doesn’t mean Prompto doesn’t appreciate a good pumpkin spice latte and a nice cozy oversized sweater. He’d been hoping Noctis would be up for taking on a mortal form for a while. They could fluster some cute girls with their combined charms, maybe entertain the idea of seducing a mortal… and, well, inevitably fall back in bed together, and sate their desires. 

(It’s probably a good thing for the rest of the world that the two most drop-dead gorgeous incubi in existence are way too busy being caught up with each other to do anything more than tease and flirt with vulnerable mortals. Yeah, they’re a bit head-over-heels, but it’s really for the greater good.) 

So Prompto’s plans had been horribly thwarted when he’d found Noctis all curled up warm and cozy in bed. Prompto had sworn he was gonna wake up his sorry ass daemon boyfriend, he really had. Noctis always looks so goddamn peaceful when he’s sleeping, though, curled into a ball, one hand closed around the curled tip of a horn, eyes fluttered shut, and the laziest smile laid across his face.

Prompto had once asked, “so, what do you dream about?” and Noctis had simply grinned and replied “you”, and Incubi aren’t supposed to fall in love, but goddamnit, like they’re playing by the rules here.

So Prompto had let Noctis sleep. He’d gone out, and he’d taken out his frustrations by flustering some poor mortal boy, but it’s not the same, not without Noctis. Prompto’s easily the more charming of the two, with his blonde hair and his bright eyes and his freckles and his disarming smile and good nature, but goddamnit, back to the whole love thing. It’s just different.

Prompto’s sweater hits the floor as he crosses the room. His jeans come next, and he’s naked, except for the scarf wrapped around his neck, as he climbs into bed. Noctis is sprawled on his stomach now, face pressed into a pillow, and Prompto wastes no time in sliding over him, shifting to straddle his lazy boyfriend’s hips. 

Noctis is perfect – and of course he is, he’s a sex daemon – with pale, flawless skin, though if Prompto looks really closely he can see old scars, remnants of mortal life that neither of them quite remember. None of that matters. He’s laughing to himself, all bright-eyed, as he unravels the scarf from around his neck, and lazily weaves it criss-crossing through the spirals of Noct’s horns, grinning at how ridiculous it looks.

In his sleep, Noctis makes a quiet, appreciative noise. He isn’t as sensitive as Prompto is, but it’s still gotta be a good, fleeting, teasing touch, and that’s what Prompto’s going for.

“You know, if you weren’t so selfish, Noct, we’d be having fun right now,” Prompto rolls his eyes and grumbles, but he’s mostly joking. After all, he’s still having fun, now that he’s here, straddling Noct’s back, leaning over him, his half-hard cock pressing into the curve of his spine.

Noctis is a ridiculously heavy sleeper. He sleeps through Prompto’s lips pressing over the curve of his shoulder, and his tongue tracing his hairline to press open-mouthed kisses (far too affectionate for daemons who technically shouldn’t love ) at the nape of his neck. Noctis sleeps when Prompto lazily scoots back, straddling his ass properly and lazily thrusting his steadily growing erection against him. 

Prompto tugs playfully on the scarf, putting a delicious bit of teasing pressure on Noct’s horns – he’s knows they’re sensitive – and Noctis groans, the first real noise he’s made. Victory. He leans in, nuzzling into Noct’s hair, lips finding his ear, “rise ‘n shine, Noct.” 

Noctis grumbles and groans again, but Prompto knows Noctis well. That’s what tends to happen when you live a life of vague, tentative immortality with someone: you get to know each other very well. They’re probably the most domestic, unthreatening deadly couple in existence. Don’t tell them that, though.

Either way, Prompto knows Noctis. He knows he’s winning, and that Noct is reluctantly rousing, and that’s a jolt of satisfaction. Prompto gets off on knowing that he’s won whatever stupid little game they’re currently playing. Okay, so he has a petty side. Whatever. 

“Go ‘way, Prompto,” Noctis mumbles thickly, and he tries to bury his face into the pillow. Prompto gives the tangle of scarf another tug in response, and he’s rewarded with a moan. I

“Don’t think I will,” Prompto says, lazily. He draws back – giving Noctis a false sense of security for a moment – but it’s just to slide down, to tug the heavy blankets fully away from Noct’s sleeping form, and to slither down his body. 

Noctis sleeps naked. It’s mostly an incubi thing, realistically, but it’s also probably cuz he knows by now that Prompto will eventually get bored and come wake him up this way, anyway. Things get blurry when you’re an attached at the hip pair of daemons, but this really isn’t anything new. And as much as Noct’s groaning and complaining, he’s absolutely lifting his hips up with the first drag of Prompto’s tongue over the cleft of his ass. He’s lifting the thick curl of his tail away, too, the appendage curling in a thick rope around his thigh. 

“Prom,” Noctis moans, and Prompto hears the first hints of impatience. He grins against the flawless skin of Noct’s ass, because he’s won. If he was in a particular mood, Prompto would make him wait. He’d relentlessly tease and draw Noctis to the edge and hold him there, and he wouldn’t let him topple over into euphoria until he’s properly apologized for being the asshole that he is. 

Right now, Prompto’s feeling generous. After all. It’s a nice day, and he did channel his inner mortal human white girl and have a pumpkin spice latte. He’s in a good mood. So, he grabs Noct’s ass, gripping it roughly and squeezing, spreading him open, as his tongue lazily traces over his entrance. 

Noctis makes a pleased sound, and Prompto grins, because he’s definitely awake. His horns nudge into Noct’s ass as he surges forward, tongue tracing teasing circles around his fluttering rim, before delving inside, all slick and wet. The sensation against Prompto’s horns is nice, and he shudders, fingers squeezing at Noct’s ass harder, spreading him wider, working his tongue deeper. 

“Prom,” Noctis mumbles, all sleepy and needy, and it’s another surge of triumph. He stabs his tongue deeper, curling it inside Noctis, seeking out the spot that will have him seeing stars, and he finds it with terrifying ease, attacking mercilessly. Their sex is amazing. It has to be, they have no excuse, it’s kinda what they do. Sometimes it’s rough and violent and frantic, and sometimes it’s simply like this, Prompto showing off what he knows, and Noctis half-conscious and warm and content as he lifts up off the bed. 

Prompto draws back, and only pauses to layer kisses over the smooth, perfect curve of Noct’s ass. He’s drawing up onto his knees, then sitting back on his heels to admire. Noct’s entrance is slick and shining and begging for more, and his cock’s fully hard between his legs, precum already pearling at the tip. He’s got that fucking ridiculous scarf still hanging from one horn, though it’s fallen off the other, draping over his neck and part of his face, and Noct’s breathing heavily. 

Perfect. 

Incubus saliva can be a type of aphrodisiac, and it’s not supposed to work on their own kind, but then, they’re not really supposed to be attracted to their own kind. It goes against their primary purpose of seducing unsuspecting mortals. But Noctis, objectively speaking, is a shitty daemon. He’d rather be lazy and lounge back and do nothing. Prompto takes the job more seriously, but then he’d met Noct, and now they’re tangled together, their fates entwined, and this is good.

Regardless, the slickness dripping from Noct’s hole has definitely worked his magic, and Noctis is pliable and open and ready for him. There’s only a moment of shifting, where Prompto rises back onto his knees. He barely even needs to line his cock up, because Noct’s already wiggling his hips back, and they both sigh as Prompto’s buried to the hilt. Noctis is tight, and they fit together perfectly, way better than they should.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Noctis hisses, as he steadies himself on his knees, lifting onto an elbow so he can get a glimpse back at Prompto. Prompto grins, all lazy and lopsided, and he’s sure he looks good. Noctis looks good too, a flush spreading across his cheeks, eyes glowing vivid amber. 

“Course I do,” Prompto agrees, and then his hips are slamming forward. There’s rarely pain anymore – and when there is, it’s usually because they want it to be – so there’s no adjustment period, simply a brutal pace and the slap of skin on skin. It’s wet, lewd sounds, and Noctis grips frantically at the bed, thrusting his hips back and meeting Prompto’s motions halfway.

They’re good at this, and they know each other, but it’s still nice to get lost in it. They both know they could go for hours if they wanted to, but there’s a beauty in giving themselves away. Prompto squeezes Noct’s ass hard enough to leave bruises that will rapidly fade. He’s gasping, and they’re both slick with sweat. Noctis twists around, and he lets his shoulders fall, his face pressing heavy into the pillow. One hand’s lifted, curling around the curve of one vibrant horn, shimmering purple amethyst, and the other reaches down between his thighs, but Prompto beats him.

“Mine,” Prompto teases, with a laugh, and he releases one hand from Noct’s ass to snake down between his thighs, to curl around his cock and stroke in heavy, even jerks. There’s a little twist of his wrist at the tip, his thumb smearing precum around, and they both gasp, because Noct’s writhing now. He’s clenching and tightening around Prompto’s cock, buried inside, and it’s so goddamn appealing, giving in this way. 

Noct’s cock jumps in his hand, and Prompto shudders when wetness spurts over his fingertips. He strokes Noct through his orgasm, milking him until he’s oversensitive and gasping, still fucking into him, and it’s only when he starts to whine that Prompto lifts his hand away. Noct’s trembling, and his tail is fluttering against Prompto’s thigh, all blissed out and frantic. Prompto’s hand shifts back to Noct’s hip though, sticky, come-smeared fingers gripping rough into the jut of hipbone, and his thrusts become more urgent, harder, until Prompto’s pounding Noct into the bed.

Prompto comes with a gasp, and a stutter of his hips, buried balls-deep into the other daemon’s ass. It’s hot and messy, and when he slips out, it’s a wet trickle down Noct’s thighs. It doesn’t matter though, because Noctis is already collapsed into the bed, and Prompto follows, sprawling down heavily on top of him. 

“You gotta stop waking me up like that,” Noctis mumbles, as they tangle together, their slick bodies, wet with sweat and sex, pressing together and cooling. Prompto laughs, and he reaches for the blankets, dragging them back up over their exhausted bodies. Like this, basking in the afterglow, their tails curls together, it’s easy to forget just what they are. That’s maybe the most terrifying thing, when they lose track of everything else, when the world only exists for the two of them.

(realistically: they’re daemons. The world is whatever the fuck they want it to be. It’s a good life.) 

“You love it when I wake you up like that,” Prompto retorts, a hint of laughter in his voice. He leans, and Noctis tips his head to the side, and their lips bump. They move to draw away, but there’s tension, a sharp pull, and Prompto groans. 

“Goddamnit, Noctis, you got your horns tangled with mine again. Dude.” 

Noctis groans, and he tries to tug back again, and okay, now it hurts, a jolt of pain tearing at Prompto’s skull, the tip of Noct’s horn hooked in around the curve of his, like some ridiculous torture trap. 

Prompto hisses. “Stop moving! Noctis!” 

“It’s your fault we’re tangled! Just suck the pain up, dude, I’ll get us out—”

“Physically tearing my horns out of my skull doesn’t get us out, Noctis…!” 

Okay, so maybe being a couple of idiot incubi in love has a downfall or two. They’re small details though. Well, small, assuming they can get their horns untangled. Goddamnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus concept art of these idiot boys [here!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/914629778761756672) Bless you Numi. <3


	2. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Caelum and Nurse Argentum have some fun~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 is upon us! I didn't like the prompts for today (dirty talk is meh and the other 2 just do not tickle my fancy at all) so I went to Numi for inspiration and she delivered me the most appealing idea of Prompto dressed as a nurse~ 
> 
> So today I've got a heaping dose of cosplay sex with heartbeat kink, edging and low-key medical kink. Oh boy.
> 
> Featuring [AMAZING companion art](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/915010942458413056) by my bae @numinoceur. i love you and thank you for indulging me~

Noctis and Prompto are on a “date.”

 

It’s a pretty loose definition of date, of course. They decided to get coffee. They argued about which coffee shop to go to, even though it’s _clearly_ Noct’s turn to pick. Noctis won, but it had been an _ordeal_. Prompto flirted with the cute barista to get revenge, and Noctis pretended he wasn’t vaguely jealous. They both order ridiculously sweet drinks, and they’re wandering the streets, pointing out various cute strangers as they pass by.

 

They’re supposed to be like, stalking down their prey or some shit. That’s what Ignis told them to do. Of course, instead, their hands – the ones not clutching coffee cups – are tangled together and their hips are nudging and they’re caught up entirely in each other. Well, mostly. Noctis catches Prompto staring from time to time, and he shouldn’t be so jealous, but Prompto’s been in a _mood._

 

“Mortal advertising is weird,” Noctis sighs, as they walk by an adult costume shop. There’s a big sign outside, with a ‘naughty nurse girl’ on display. He frowns, and tips his head, and sexuality isn’t really a _thing_ when you’re an incubus – sex is sex, after all – but Noctis still doesn’t quite get the appeal.

 

“What do you mean?” Prompto blinks, “dude, that’s hot.”

 

“Real nurses don’t dress that way,” Noctis points out. “They wear like. Those weird baggy clothes.”

 

“Scrubs, Noctis,” Prompto sighs, rolling his eyes and offering up his best _are you fucking serious_ look. “They wear scrubs. Like the TV show. Besides, how would you know?”

 

Noctis shrugs, as they stop in front of the store, and turn to peer up at the stupid sign. “There was that one guy a couple years back, remember? We picked him up on his way home from work.”

 

Prompto blinks, and tips his head. “… that wasn’t the guy we almost killed, right? Noctis, I felt _really_ bad about that. You totally ate too much of his soul, dude. You _know_ I don’t actually like killing them, unless we’ve got reason to.”

 

“No, it wasn’t _that_ guy. The nurse dude was fine. But they all dress in scrubs. It’s not hot.”

 

Prompto doesn’t seem convinced. He tugs his hand out of Noct’s, and turns to give him a _look,_ one that Noctis recognizes very well. Prompto’s up to something, and he’s absolutely intrigued. “You’d totally get off on me wearing one of those costumes, Noctis.”

 

“Well, duh.” Noctis doesn’t deny it. There’s no point in denying it, because they both know that he gets off on literally anything Prompto does. Again. Sex daemons in love. It’s a bit chaotic.

 

Prompto’s smirk widens, and he takes a step forward, opening the door to the shop. “Wait here, Noctis,” he says, firmly, and then he’s stepping inside. A little bell on the door chimes as Prompto disappears inside. Noctis debates, very firmly, whether or not he should follow, but hell, he still has half of his latte left, and he feels like indulging his ridiculous incubus boyfriend. So, instead, Noctis settles down on a nearby bench. He lazily watches people stroll by, a hand fiddling with the point of his horn as he waits.

 

Prompto’s carrying a bag when he comes out.

 

“Step one, complete,” he says, triumphantly, holding the bag up.

 

Noctis stands up, and he has to admit, his curiousity is piqued. “Step one? What’s step two, Prom?”

 

Prompto pauses to toss his empty coffee cup away, and then he’s grasping Noct’s hand again. “You’ll see.”

 

\---

 

One of the blessings of being an incubus is that it’s _really_ easy to sneak into places. People tend not to question them too much. And those who do? Well, Prompto quirks a smile and bats those big blue eyes of his, and people seem to, uh, _forget_ they’d ever seen them in the first place.

 

That’s how they end up in a hospital.

 

“See,” Noctis says, as they lazily wander down a hallway. Nurses are rushing by, and only a couple seem to even _bother_ giving a second glance. “They’re all wearing ugly clothes.”

 

Prompto sighs heavily, and smacks Noctis with the bag he’s still carrying. “I never denied it in the first place, y’know.” He’s distracted though, glancing into rooms as they walk by, and finally, Prompto stops in front of one. “Here we go.”

 

Noctis isn’t really sure why they’re here. Hospitals don’t smell very good. There’s an aura of sickness over the place, and for a being who, y’know, _feeds off mortal souls,_ it’s an unappealing taste in his mouth. But Prompto’s grinning, and leading the way and where Prompto goes, Noctis follows. It’s been that way for… well. A long time.

 

They’re kind of a packaged unit at this point.

 

Finally, Prompto grins, and ducks into room. “This’ll be fine. Shut the door behind you.”

 

Noctis shuts it, but he doesn’t bother locking. Nobody will bother them. Anyone who comes by will get oddly disoriented and somehow remember somewhere else they need to be.

 

They’re in an empty examination room. Prompto grins and tugs a white coat off a hook on the door and tosses it over lazily. Noctis catches it, and lifts a well-defined brow. “We came all this way for a coat?”

 

“The store didn’t have any _believable_ doctor’s coats, Noct,” Prompto sighs. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.”

 

“So I have to be realistic, but you’re going for the slutty nurse look?”

 

Prompto saunters over to little attached bathroom, bag tossed over his shoulder, and he _glares_ at Noctis. “Just shut up and let me have my fun, Noct.” He slams the door behind him, presumably to change, and Noctis leans against the side of the examination bed, amused.

 

This isn’t to say that Noctis isn’t intrigued. They’ve done some shit like this before, of course. After all they’ve been through, they’ve experienced pretty much everything. Noctis eyes the coat he’s still holding on to, and he has an _idea._ They’re immortal, and they don’t age, but they know how to have fun, and just because they’re sex daemons doesn’t mean that they don’t know each others’ weaknesses.

 

Noctis shrugs the coat on, and he lazily roams the room, looking at the various medical devices hooked up, and the supplies meticulously labeled and organized on the counter. He grins and tosses a stethoscope lazily around his neck, and he arches a brow at the box of disposable latex gloves Latex. Yeah. Prompto will like _that._

The door opens behind him, and Noctis turns, mid-step, his hands tucking into the coat pockets.

 

“Why hello, Dr. Caelum,” Prompto teases, as he saunters in, and okay, so maybe Noctis doesn’t care that the outfit _isn’t_ quite accurate, because it looks hot. Prompto’s always been the one who can pull this shit off. It’s a short, white coat-like dress, with a plunging v-neck, and if Prompto had cleavage… well, he’d be showing a good deal of it. There’s a couple of buttons barely holding it closed, and the fabric’s clinging to his hips. The ‘uniform’ only comes partway down his thigh, and Noctis sighs, because it’s topped off with a choker snug around his neck, garters and thigh-high stockings and, goddamnit, a pair of red heels.

 

(All these centuries, and Noctis still _sucks_ at walking in heels. He doesn’t know how Prompto does it so well.)

 

“You look ridiculous,” Noctis says, as he eyes the full package. Prompto’s even got one of those silly little white caps, perched on the top of his head, right between the jutting curve of his horns.

 

“You cheated,” Prompto replies, in response, and his eyes narrow, as he steps forward, heels clicking smartly on the floor. The dress rides up his thighs a little as he walks, and his tail’s twitching, all mischief. “Noctis, you _know_ what gets me going.”

 

Noctis laughs. Yeah, he’d put on the white coat. And the stethoscope. And the gloves. But okay, so maybe he’d had the thought that _hey,_ the doctor look isn’t complete without a bit of distinguished scruff.

 

Fun fact: incubi can shift their ages at will. Noctis had figured that he probably looked too _young_ to be a proper doctor, and hey, he’s going for realism here.

 

“Yeah?” Noctis smirks, and takes a step forward, curling an arm around Prompto waist as he approaches, tugging him in for a rough kiss. “What you going to do about it?”

 

Prompto laughs, when they part, and he lazily plays his fingers over the front of the coat. “You know that’s professional misconduct, Dr. Caelum? I’m your _nurse.”_

 

“Nah,” Noctis grins, and he notices the way Prompto shudders when he runs his scruffed jaw over his cheek, or when the cool touch of the latex glove grips at the back of an exposed thigh. “You’re my patient, today, Prompto. Up on the table, huh?”

 

Noctis would like to think that this isn’t what Prompto intended to happen _at all,_  but let’s be honest, this is probably what Prompto was aiming for all along. He doesn’t protest when Noctis grips the backs of his thighs with both hands and _lifts_ him up onto the edge of the examination table. Hell, quite the opposite, Prompto’s dragging his fingers over the front of the medical coat, smoothing out the wrinkles and pressing at the collar.

 

“Funny you should say that, Dr. Caelum,” Prompto murmurs, tipping his head back when Noct’s beard scrapes over his jaw, “I’ve been feeling… _off,_ lately.”

 

“Yeah?” Noct’s voice is low, and his hands shift, gripping the inside of Prompto’s thighs, gloved thumbs digging in as he tugs his legs apart. “Give me a rundown of the symptoms, then.”

 

Prompto shudders again, and Noctis leans in. He can feel Prompto’s trapped erection pressing against the front of the stupid little nurse’s dress, and it’s a rush of satisfaction. They’re both somewhat high on the rush, of course, and they’re both absolutely getting off on this. Even if they’re playing the act, their tails are curling together, and Prompto’s lifting a hand, gripping at one of Noct’s horns as Noctis trails kisses down his jaw.

 

“This the part where I tell you my dick isn’t working right and you jerk me off?” Prompto asks, with a breathless laugh, when Noct’s gloved fingers brush over the front of the dress, teasing his erection through the fabric.

 

“Didn’t we try that once?” Noctis points out. He swears that they did. But then again, after all these years, it blurs together.

 

“Actually,” Prompto pauses, for a moment, even though Noct’s fingers close around the strap of a garter and give it a rough _snap,_ making him jump. “… yeah. We did. We seduced that hot doctor that one time.”

 

Okay. Noct’s glad he isn’t crazy.

 

“Thought so,” he agrees, but he’s still working his hand up Prompto’s thigh, slow and lazy, tracing little circles over heated skin, and Noctis can’t quite hold back the smirk at the way Prompo’s shifting and sighing. Little asshole _totally_ has a thing for the clinical touch and the smooth drag of latex over his skin.

 

Prompto’s absolutely playing into it, too, when Noct’s fingers drift up over the swell of his balls. He _gasps,_ and it’s only a little bit exaggerated. His fingers grip onto Noct’s horns a little tighter, and that feels good too, has Noctis sighing and tipping his head in. “So, _doctor,_ what’s the diagnosis?”

 

Noctis laughs, and he cups Prompto’s balls, squeezing them and rolling them and taking his damn time, occasionally dipping back to press into the sensitive spot behind. “Manual stimulation seems adequate.”

 

“Fuck,” Prompto agrees, head lolling forward to rest against Noct’s shoulder, when Noctis’s grip shifts to wrap around his cock, giving it a good, solid pump. Noct’s grip is tighter than normal, a bit rough and unfamiliar, and the texture of the latex, under normal circumstances, might be a bit unpleasant. They’re daemons though, and sex is kinda their _thing,_ and Prompto’s more than capable of finding pleasure in it.

 

“I _don’t_ fuck patients,” Noctis replies, with a laugh. He leans in, and Prompto hisses at the cold, metal weight of the stethoscope falling between them, pressing right up against the exposed slice of his chest.

 

“Could change your mind,” Prompto mumbles, but then Noctis twists his wrist as he jerks his cock, his gloved thumb spreading precome over the head, and he gasps, instead. Noct could absolutely get Prompto off, just like _this,_ and hell, his own cock is hard in his pants, but instead, he pulls his hand away, wiping the slick of precome on the thin, crinkling paper lining the exam table.

 

“When’s the last time you even _had_ a checkup?” Noctis asks. Prompto _glares,_ the second Noct’s hand is off his cock, but he’s not complaining. Hell, his eyes narrow, and he scoots back a little across the table, shifting his weight to get more comfortable, stockinged legs dangling and kicking at the underside of the table.

 

“Uh, probably not since the time we seduced the hot doctor, dude,” Prompto admits. “Why? You gonna check and make sure I’m healthy, Dr. Caelum?”

 

Noctis shrugs. He enjoys being called _doctor_ way too much, but he’s not getting started on that. “You’re probably due for one.” His gaze drifts, and there’s definitely an uh, _assortment_ of fun looking devices lining the countertop.

 

“Probably,” Prompto agrees.

 

Well, that does it. “Dress off,” Noctis says, and his tone shifts, from something playful and teasing into something _colder,_ more clinical. Prompto shudders, and he doesn’t hesitate for a moment, fingers quickly working at the buttons of the skimpy little nurse dress. Noctis doesn’t wanna tears his eyes away, but he turns around, looking over the table of supplies.

 

This office really must belong to an actual doctor. There’s probably a nametag sewn on the white coat somewhere, but Noctis didn’t even bother to look. He smirks, and starts rummaging through drawers, anyway, and the smirk widens when he finds the poor doctor’s personal affairs. There’s a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses, and Noctis snags them, pushing them up his nose as he turns back around.

 

Prompto’s scooted back fully against the little examining room table. The nurse dress is fully unbuttoned, hanging loose at his sides, and Noctis drags his eyes appreciatively down over his exposed chest, to where his cock is _very_ hard against his belly. Prompto had left the garter straps, the stockings, and the heels on, and Noctis appreciates _that._

 

“Looks like you’ve got a painful problem,” Noctis says, slowly, approaching the table. The stethoscope’s hanging at his neck, and he has an _idea,_ as his fingers play over it. Noct’s eyes settle very pointedly on Prompto’s erection, then back up. Prompto’s got that _look_ in his eye, the one that indicates that he’s really fucking turned on, and that’s a good thing. Prompto’s been a little shit all day, pushing Noct’s buttons, and he’s had _way_ too much energy.

 

“You know what I think?” Noct’s fingers play over the heavy metal chestpiece of the stethoscope.

 

Prompto shrugs. “You’re the doctor,” and he’s trying to play it off casual, but Noctis can tell he’s _very_ interested. The colour of Prompto’s eyes is shifting, and he’s putting himself on display, hips lifting every so slightly. “You tell me.”

 

Noctis laughs. He takes a step forward, hovering over the edge of the table, and he leans in, a gloved hand pressing into the table, the paper crinkling under the pressure. “You’ve got _way_ too much energy. Overindulging again, Prom?”

 

Prompto rolls his eyes and bites his lower lip, and Noctis knows it’s true. It makes sense. Prompto’s been getting on his nerves all fucking day, picking arguments and flirting with strangers and hell, it’s because of Prompto that they’re _here_ in the first place. “Noct, you slept for _thirteen hours_ last night. I was _bored,_ okay?”

 

“Prompto,” Noctis says, and he’s got that _clinical_ tone, again. “You know what you get like when you’re too full of energy, right? I bet your heart’s pounding out of your fucking chest, dude.”

 

Prompto opens his mouth to reply, and then he catches on, and he simply says. “ _Oh_.”

 

Prompto jumps when Noctis presses the diaphragm to his chest. The metal’s cold, and Noctis absolutely didn’t bother to warm it up. He presses it in firmly to Prompto’s chest, his other hand pressing in one eartip, and then the other. It’s… interesting, the surrounding background noise dulled. There’s a shift, and then Noctis slides the diaphragm around, gets it _right,_ and the sound of Prompto’s heart thumping in his chest filters through.

 

It’s a bit of a miracle at all that Incubi even _have_ heartbeats, but Noctis has to admit, it’s kinda fascinating. Okay, it’s a bit of a turn on, too, hearing the steady rise and fall of Prompto’s heartbeat echoing in his head. He tips his head to the side, and their eyes _meet,_ and Prompto shudders. His cock is even harder on his belly, if that’s at all possible. Noctis smirks, and presses the chestpiece in _harder,_ the edge cutting into Prompto’s skin a little.

 

“Heart rate’s fast,” Noctis says. By nature, their hearts do simply beat faster. Prompto’s definitely wound up, though, and Noctis has a _thought._ His free hand slips down Prompto’s chest, slow and lazy, gloved fingers dragging over his abs, and he curls his hand around Prompto’s leaking erection again, giving it a rough jerk. Prompto _gasps,_ and his heart thumps a violent staccato, the sound bouncing around in Noct’s ears.

 

“ _Fuck,_ Noctis,” Prompto whines, and he’s got a hand lifted, gripping at Noct’s shoulder through the coat. “I need release, you _know_ I do.”

 

Noctis knows. He gives Prompto’s cock another tug, flicking his wrist, the precum slick against the latex glove, smoothing out the stroke some. “Do you deserve it though?”

 

“Fuck yeah I do,” Prompto replies. Noctis laughs, and shakes his head, but he doesn’t stop. He knows Prompto likes it rough, and so he purposely loosens his grip. His thumb runs lazy down the thick underside of his erection, and then back up, playing along the ridged head. Prompto whines, and his heart is racing faster now, a steady, rapid ‘thump’ in Noct’s ears. Noctis draws his hand back even more, until he’s barely stroking his middle and forefinger over the leaking tip of Prompto’s oversensitive erection.

 

“ _Noctis,”_ Prompto hisses, and his hips jerk off the table when Noct pulls away entirely. Prompto’s glaring, and his tail’s swishing angrily, thumping as it hits the edge of the table, and it makes Noctis laugh.

 

“You didn’t think I’d let you get off so easy?”

 

Prompto opens his mouth to complain, and then Noct’s hand curls around his cock, _again,_ and instead he moans, hips lifting and tail thumping, his heart tripping over itself and racing violently in his chest again. It’s fucking _hot,_ the immediate response, and Noctis is merciless. He squeezes rough at the base of Prompto’s erection, strokes up, wrist twisting at the head, smearing more mess around. Prompto whines and writhes but it’s all secondary to the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat, the _audible_ increase with every fucking painstaking stroke of Noct’s fist.

 

Noctis can tell when Prompto’s gonna come. He always can. As _insatiable_ as Prompto is with humans, he can never resist Noctis. It’s part of why they’ve been doing this so long. Hell, Noctis can’t resist Prompto either, the front of his pants _tight_ with how hard and aching he is. He digs his thumb into the slit of Prompto’s cock, _hears_ his heart trip in response, a steady, rapid rhythm in his ears, and then, as Prompto squeezes at his shoulder, as his stomach starts to shake, Noctis wrenches his hand away.

 

“ _Noctis!”_ Prompto whines, loud and needy, beating a hand into Noct’s chest, “come on, I’m _sorry,_ is that what you wanna hear?”

 

“Not what I wanted,” Noctis shoots back, lazily wiping his precome slicked gloved fingers on Prompto’s belly, smearing the mess across his trembling abs, “but I appreciate it.” He shifts to tug the earpiece of the stethoscope out of his ears, the diaphragm slipping off Prompto’s chest. “So, you wanna listen?”

 

Prompto’s ready to argue. It’s a good day for Noctis, though, because his idiot daemon boyfriend opens his mouth, immediately shuts, it _glares_ fucking daggers at Noctis, and says, “fuck off, Noct, you know I want to.”

 

Noct’s smirk deepens and he hands the stethoscope over. Prompto’s fingers are trembling, just a _little – god,_ Noctis gets off on flustering him – and he props himself up on one elbow, fitting the ear pieces in and lazily stroking over his chest as he presses the – now warmed – diaphragm over his chest, moving it around until –

 

Noctis knows Prompto’s found it, by the way his eyes immediately widen. “Oh, _shit,_ that’s kinda hot, Noct,” Prompto says. Noct, in response, curls his fingers around Prompto’s cock again, and gives a couple of slow, half-hearted strokes. “Fuck, I can _hear_ it—”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees. He swirls his fingers over the swollen, dripping tip of Prompto’s cock, and he’s pleased when Prompto moans, from the combined teasing touch, and what must be the subsequent increase of his heart pounding in his ears. “You get all worked up when you’re about to get off.”

 

It’s not often that Noctis manages to render Prompto speechless, but he doesn’t get a reply, and honestly, he’s pretty fucking proud of himself. Prompto’s eyes are all wide, and he’s _gasping,_ and his cock is twitching and it’s not entirely from Noctis touching him.

 

The merciful thing, of course, would be giving Prompto what he wants, to jerk him off. Hell, Noctis even entertains the idea of tugging his pants down his hips and fucking Prompto against the exam table. Instead, he tugs on Prompto’s thighs, until his ass is half-hanging off the edge of the table, legs dangling over the side, tail still thumping restlessly, and Noctis lowers himself to his knees.

 

“Noct, what are—” that gets a response out of Prompto, but not much of one, because Noct’s scruff scrapes over the sensitive skin of Prompto’s inner thigh, and he _moans._ One leg lifts – still all satiny-smooth from the stockings, and Prompto curls it around Noct’s neck, the point of the heel digging into his skin, just a little. It makes Noctis laugh, all hot breath against smooth skin. He’s left the glasses on, too, and the lenses fog up a little as Noctis takes in a breath.

 

Noct’s tongue drags between Prompto’s thigh, against his entrance, and Prompto _moans._ There’s a hand curling around one of Noct’s horn, and it feels _good,_ but in a distant way, because sometimes, Noctis gets in a mood. Right now, he’s in a very intent one, where he’s determined to drive Prompto _insane._

They have a love-hate relationship, at times. It’s mostly a love-love relationship, by now, since they’ve been together so goddamn _long,_ but Prompto’s been way too wound up. Noctis can tell he’s going crazy, his thighs trembling, the heel poking into the back of his neck as Prompto draws his face closer. His erection’s making a mess of his belly, and Prompto can barely do anything but breathe heavily. Hell, even _that_ sounds labored, cuz he’s panting up a storm. Incubi don’t _need_ to breathe, of course, but it’s a habit they’ve developed over all the years, and sometimes their brains don’t remember that particular fact.

 

So, Noctis makes himself comfortable. He keeps one latex-covered hand gripping rough at Prompto’s thigh, holding him spread open, while his tongue pushes inside, working Prompto into a writhing mess. The other hand’s still curled around his cock, stroking slow and steady, drawing back every time his balls tighten and his body starts to _shake._

The first couple of times, Prompto hisses and curses Noct’s name.

 

The third time Noctis draws his tongue out of Prompto’s ass, traces circles around his fluttering entrance and rubbing his thumb over the wet tip of his twitching cock, Prompto _breaks._

 

“Fuck, _Noct,_ fuck, my heart’s about to explode out of my fucking chest, _please—”_

 

Noctis laughs, and he dives back in. Prompto’s ass and thighs are slick with saliva, and his erection’s so painfully hard, it’s got to be horrible. Noct’s feeding on it, too. The constant up and downs, the energy Prompto’s letting off as he reaches the very edge, as he’s moments from orgasm, before Noctis pulls his hands back and touches _slow_ and delicate and holds him there. Honestly, Noct’s starting to feel warm and full from it, too, even as his own cock throbs, trapped in his pants.

 

When Noctis pulls back the fourth time, Prompto starts sobbing. His hips buck, and he tries to pull Noct’s tongue back into him. Noctis laughs, and he tips his head and nips at Prompto’s inner thigh. His skin is scratchy and red, rubbed raw from the teasing drag of Noct’s beard. Prompto’s cock has made a total mess of his belly and his pelvis, and the latex glove is almost _soaked,_ it’s almost impressive how much he’s leaked all over him.

 

“You sorry?” Noctis asks, and his voice is full of amusement, “You want me to finish your treatment, Prom?”

 

_“Yes—”_ Prompto whimpers, the free hand, the one that’s not still holding the chestpiece of the steth to his chest desperately tugging at Noct’s horn, “please, Noct, it’s too much, I can hear _it,_ wanna hear what it’s like when—”

 

Prompto doesn’t finish the words, because Noct’s hand jerks in a tight fist around his cock. He gives Prompto three rough, good strokes, thumbing over the tip, and his tongue dives inside, as deep as it can, twisting wet and hot heat over Prompto’s prostate. Prompto _wails,_ and he’s coming, his cock spurting and outright jerking under Noct’s fingertips. Their tails are tangled together, and Noctis laps at Prompto’s ass, drawing his tongue free and rubbing the very tip in circles around his fluttering rim as he slowly comes down from the orgasm.

 

“Good?” Noctis asks, after a moment, when Prompto shakily manages to start breathing again. The earpiece of the stethoscope falls from his ears, and Prompto whimpers, nodding weakly.

 

“Holy shit, Noctis, we’re taking this thing home with us,” Prompto agrees, breathlessly. He shifts, as if he’s going to climb up off the table, but the paper crackles and crinkles and Prompto groans and instead he slumps down, his legs finally falling from Noct’s shoulders again. He’s still got the damn stockings, and the heels, and the open nurse’s costume is a wrinkled, sweaty messy.

 

“We’re taking more than _that,”_ Noctis agrees, with a laugh. The glasses are crooked on his nose, and he’s pretty sure his ministrations bent the frame. His jaw is a little bit numb, too. Noctis stands up again, slowly, and he pulls one latex glove off, then the other, snapping them as he does. “You feel better, dude?”

 

“I got into one of my moods again, didn’t I?” Prompto groans. He tries to get up again, and this time, he manages, even if his legs wobble a bit. Prompto’s fingers are still shaky, too, as he buttons the front of the costume up again.

 

“Mhmm,” Noctis agrees, but he’s stifling a yawn. He’d fed off Prompto’s energy through that, and now, honestly, Noctis feels like he could go for another nap. Maybe not another _long_ one, but at least a few hours. For now, though, he’s turning around, sweeping about the room again. The gloves go into the medical trash disposal.

 

“Sorry,” Prompto laughs, even though he doesn’t sound very apologetic. He shifts to stand in front of a mirror, jutting his hips out and fixing his hair. “You look _hot_ as a doctor, though, gotta admit.”

 

Noctis tips his head to the side and picks up a terrifying looking metal speculum. “I’m taking this home with us,” he decides. Then, spotting some even _more_ terrifying looking hooked metal rods, Noctis picks up a couple of _those,_ too. “And these.”

 

Prompto lazily loops the steth around his neck. “Oh yeah? Okay, but next time _I_ get to be the doctor, Noct.”

 

“I’m not wearing the costume,” Noctis responds immediately. He’s already debating how the hell they’re going to carry all this stuff out of here. But, hell, they’ll find a way. They always do. Sex daemons, after all.

 

“You don’t hafta,” Prompto agrees, “next time, you’re gonna be my patient.”

 

Oh.

 

Noctis can live with that.

 

“Deal,” he agrees, as Prompto loops an arm around his waist. With the heels, Prompto’s a bit taller, and it’s only mildly annoying, and even that thought isn’t so bad, as Prompto leans and nudges their cheeks together.

 

“Come on, lazy,” Prompto says, airily, “let’s get this stuff home.”

 

In total, over a dozen people successfully managed to get redirected when they tried to enter the examining room during Noctis and Prompto’s little adventure, including the poor doctor himself. He’s _very_ confused as to how his glasses get all mangled, and about the number of objects he’s misplaced, but he convinces himself that he’d simply forgotten them. That tends to happen, sometimes.

 

Noctis takes his well-deserved nap, Prompto curled content at his side for once, and in all, it’s decidedly not a half-bad date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( i was weirdly nervous abt posting this? so uh yeah, don't judge my weird medical fetish ok? )


	3. Biting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis versus Prompto. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: biting~ 
> 
> I teamed up with the wonderful Numi again to do a Versus themed Promptis day. :) [Check out her beautiful versus!incubi art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/915375600130387969) I love working with her, you're amazing as always, thank you Numi~
> 
> So these boys are different than their soft, fluffy selves. **pls be warned, they are killers, so this is darker~**

The universe is an interesting place.

 

Let’s take a couple of steps back.

 

Noctis and Prompto? They’ve known each other for a long ass time. Their story is an interesting one – about as ridiculous as is expected – but they’ve fit together perfectly for a number of reasons. Really, the world is lucky that they’re so caught up in each other, because otherwise, it could be disastrous. But Noctis is lazy and Prompto is over-eager to please his daemon boyfriend, and so the world is largely unimpacted by their antics.

 

In another timeline, though, that can’t quite be said.

 

Maybe it’s a world where things came together differently, where Noctis isn’t quite so easy-going and Prompto’s not quite so eager to please. Their backstory’s slightly different, somewhere along the way, the universe misaligned and things aren’t quite right.

\---

 

Prompto lazily slings an arm over Noct’s shoulder, and the two exchange a _look._ They’re good at communicating silently. Noct’s not much of a talker, and Prompto likes to ramble aimlessly, but when they get into this particular _mood,_ when they’re focused on a task at hand, the two of them shift into something serious.

 

“Not bad, huh?” Prompto speaks, after a moment, interrupting the silence. He tips his head, and he smirks, and Noctis lazily smiles back, nudging their shoulders together. They’re standing in an alleyway, and it’s dark out. Slumped against the wall in front of them is the dead guy, some nameless individual with a nice ass that had caught Prompto’s eye outside a bar. His pants are still caught around his ankles, and his face is forever frozen into silent bliss.

 

“Dunno why you like to kill them right when they’re getting off,” Noctis replies, with a shrug and a roll of his eyes. He’s not hungry right now. They’d had a good run the other night. He’s damn well aware Prompto isn’t, either. Prompto’s just _impulsive,_ and sometimes he snacks for the sake of it, on whatever pretty thing catches his eye.

 

Prompto shrugs, “seems like a good way to die.”

 

Noctis laughs though, and he has to admit, Prompto’s got the right idea. Good way to die.

 

“Wanna help with the next one?” Prompto asks, lazily, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them up, as they stroll out of the alleyway. “It’s more fun when we do it _together,_ Noctis.”

 

Some things never change, no matter how the rest of the details do, and Noctis, honestly, is feeling lazy. But, he does love Prompto. That part will never change, either, even if their love is violent and chaotic and absolutely _wild_ from time to time.

 

“Guess I could. For you. Gonna make it worth my while?” Noctis mumbles, his eyes glowing bright in the moonlight.

 

“Don’t I always?” Prompto grins.

 

Yeah. He does.

 

\---

 

A cute blonde girl catches Prompto’s eye. Noctis sighs; Prompto always goes for the blondes. It doesn’t take much. It never does. Prompto’s dressed simply, in a white tank and jeans, heavily lidded eyes and a fluffy mess of blonde hair. He’s dripping sex appeal without even trying, just with a sway of his hips and some smoldering eyes. His tail switches, twitching at the tip, like a fucking cat that’s stalking down its prey. And hell, it’s not really so different.

 

She’s dumber than some; she invited them back to her place. So now they’re here. Noct’s still got his high-collared leather coat on, though his pants are unbuttoned and pushed down his hips. Prompto’s shirt’s ridden halfway up his chest, and his pants are kicked aside. They’d played with her a bit, brought her to the bed, and ultimately they’re here, spit-roasting the poor girl, Noct’s cock in her throat and Prompto taking her from behind.

 

She’s gasping through her orgasm as Noctis comes down her throat. He pulls back, runs a hand through her hair, maybe a silent apology, more likely a last parting gift to the poor mortal. Then, the life fades out of her eyes, as Prompto tosses his head back, as Noctis feels the _life_ working through his tired body, running fire through his veins. His eyes glimmer and he shudders, and collapses back against the bed.

 

“We’ve got time for another one,” Prompto says, unceremoniously, as he climbs off the poor girl. He’s still hard. He didn’t come, and Noctis doesn’t comment on that. “C’mon, lazy, unless you wanna sleep in the dead girl’s bed.”

 

Noctis doesn’t. The bed is horribly uncomfortable, a cheap mattress from a cheap mass-production furniture store. It hurts his back. Prompto tucks his aching cock back into his pants, and they head back through the dark, empty halls.

 

They’re out of the apartment and in the alleyway below, when Noctis grabs Prompto roughly by the horns and drags him into the shadows. Prompto _gasps,_ and Noctis smirks, satisfied, when he feels the rough press of his cock rubbing into his thigh as he gets him shoved up against the rough brick wall.

 

Prompto tosses his head back, and it hits the wall with a solid _crack._ If they were mortals, he’d probably have a concussion. He’s an incubus, though, and it barely phases him. Hell, honestly, Noctis knows Prompto gets off on pain, that the dull throb in the base of his skull is probably going directly between his thighs.

 

“We’ve messed around enough,” Noctis hisses, shoving his leg roughly between Prompto’s, putting pressure that’s too heavy to be entirely pleasure directly against the length of his cock. One hand’s still gripping rough at a short, slightly curved horn, protruding from the top of his skull, and the other hand’s reaching between them, to get Prompto’s pants unbuttoned with deft fingers.

 

“You don’t get off to those strangers,” Noctis hisses, his fingers slipping into Prompto’s pants, curling hard around his cock and jerking it _rough,_ his thumb digging into the slit at the tip. He’s still wearing his fucking gloves, and Prompto’s making a mess of the leather. “You only get off on _me.”_

 

Prompto groans, and his hips jerk forward. His eyes narrow, and his head’s still tipped back, scraping against the harsh brick. “You’re an asshole, Noctis,” Prompto says, and in response, Noct _squeezes_ right at the base of his erection, and this time it’s mostly just painful. If anything, though, Prompto’s cock twitches in response, slick dripping over Noct’s fingers.

 

“Yeah, and you’re a fucking painslut,” Noctis agrees, and when their lips meet, it’s no gentle, passionate kissing. Prompto’s smirking against his lip, and the little asshole wrenches his head back, sticks his tongue out, twin stud piercings on his lip standing out stark, and it’s got Noctis burning with a low-simmering rage as he rushes back in. This time, Prompto’s lip tears when Noct’s teeth sink in and _pull,_ and the taste of daemon blood is thick and viscous. It’s got Noctis hard in his pants, instantly, screaming for _more._

Prompto’s groaning and rolling his hips forward, like the needy brat he is. It’s always this way. Prompto’s impatient and needy and he’s quick to _take,_ but it’s never enough. In the end, he always ends up like this, unsatisfied, driving Noctis crazy. One of these days, Noct’s going to make him beg, and sometimes he _tries,_ but Prompto’s irresistible, and he’s always the one to cave.

 

It’s rough, outright violent, and Noctis knows it’s _exactly_ what Prompto wants.

 

When he roughly grabs Prompto by the hair and _twists,_ exposing an expanse of pale, flawless neck, Prompto _moans._ When Noct’s teeth sink in, when more of Prompto’s daemon blood fills his lips, bitter but fucking satisfying, they both shudder. Prompto’s cock twitches and he comes hard, right against Noct’s fingers, spurting messy between them as he wordlessly rides out an orgasm, all tense muscle and heaving pants.

 

Noct’s not done though, and he laughs, bitterly. He jerks Prompto’s cock, milks him through his release, until his whole body’s trembling. “All those fucking nobodies and it’s a handjob that does it, Prom? _Really?”_

 

“Fuck off, Noct,” Prompto manages to hiss out. His cock’s still hard, aching and throbbing under Noct’s talented fingers, and he’s glaring up a storm, even as his chest heaves, as thick blood dribbles down his collarbone, soaking into his shirt and staining the white fabric dark. Prompto likes a little mess, and the way he’s reaching forward, fisting his fingers into Noct’s jacket and _tugging_ him forward again is more than fucking proof of that.

 

They kiss again, rough, Noct’s teeth tugging at one of Prompto’s tongue rings. Prompto works a hand between them, rubs firmly over the outline of Noct’s erection through his pants, and Noctis _sighs._ Fuck, it’s good.

 

Noctis wrenches back, and this time, he’s grabbing Prompto roughly and flipping him around. Prompto hisses, again, as he’s pressed roughly up against the wall, his still-hard cock dribbling and scraping against the wall. Noct’s tugging Prompto’s pants fully down, exposing his ass, and the fabric _rips,_ Prompto mumbling, “I like those pants, asshole,” but Noctis simply pushes his face into the wall and the impact is violent, and he _knows_ Prompto’s gonna bruise.

 

It’s not like bruises last long when you’re a daemon, anyway. He’ll barely get the time to admire his work.

 

“Tell me you want it,” Noctis hisses, as he reaches a hand around and presses two gloved fingers into Prompto’s mouth. Prompto responds immediately by curling his tongue around the rough leather, _purring_ his answer and giving Noctis a few teasing licks. Noct shudders, and he’s drawing back, dripping fingers dipping between the swell of Prompto’s ass, pressing inside quick and merciless.

 

“Fuck, _Noct—”_ Prompto’s a mouthy thing, in bed, and right now is no fucking exception. He’s been trying to sate his desires all night, and nothing’s worked, and now Noct’s fingers are fucking into him. They’re thicker with the gloves, rougher, and Prompto’s in heaven, bucking his hips back greedily into Noct’s fingers.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis laughs, “that’s not an answer, Prom. _Tell me,”_ and his teeth find Prompto’s shoulderblade, biting right through the leather. It’s enough to blunt the sting some, and it just makes Prompto _whine,_ eager for more, rocking back and fucking himself on Noct’s hand. Prompto’s a handful, and he really is a painslut, that part isn’t a lie.

 

Prompto _moans,_ and he’s got a hand braced on the wall, the other reaching back, greedily, for Noct’s hips, trying to pull him closer, but Noctis shifts the hand that isn’t working into his boyfriend’s ass to swat him away. He pulls back, sinks a third finger in, and Prompto keens out. He’s close to breaking, close to _begging,_ and Noctis wants to hear it.

 

When Noctis goes in again, teeth sinking in at the nape of Prompto’s neck, tearing through the skin, Prompto breaks and he keens and he braces his legs further apart, ass rocking back, needy, tail coiled around his leg and tucked away. “Fuck, Noctis, _come on,_ fuck me—”

 

Noctis shudders, and he presses a kiss – a single gesture of affection – over the weeping bite wound, as he wrenches his fingers out. He spits in his hand, gives his aching cock a good stroke, and then he’s slamming in, both hands gripping tight at Prompto’s ass, spreading him open, exposing him to the world.

 

Sometimes, Noctis likes to get absolutely lost in fucking Prompto. Prompto’s a seductive little asshole. He could probably single-handedly lure anyone to bed, regardless of how resistant they are to his powers. Sometimes, Noctis really does like to bury his face between Prompto’s shoulderblades, to breathe in the scent of his hair and to feel it against his face while he fucks them both into a euphoric mess.

 

Sometimes, too, Noctis likes to lean back, to _watch_ Prompto work his magic, to watch that wiry form arch and rock back and sink his greedy ass deeper onto Noct’s cock. Prompto knows how to work his hips, to brace his hands on the wall and to put on one hell of a show. It’s always so nice, too, to watch his cock disappear into the stretched rim of Prompto’s ass, gripping him tight and perfect, like they’re made for each other.

 

Hell, they’re both such fucking brats, in their own way, that they probably _are_ made for each other.

 

It’s been one hell of a night, and Noct’s just had to chase Prompto all across town, watching as he gluttons himself on sex and life and the power of tearing his victims’ lives away. He’s exhausted, and when they feed too much, he’s inclined to curl up and relax. After teaching Prompto a lesson, of course.

 

So Noct’s gloved fingers grip tight on Prompto’s ass, keeping him spread wide and open as he fucks into him. He pivots his hips and thrusts up at just the right angle, so that Prompto’s erection surges, so that it’s leaking again, a mess as it bumps into the contrasting rough surface of the wall in front of him. Prompto’s cheek is scraping a bloody mess into the wall, and he’s sobbing, and Noctis is _satisfied._

Prompto comes with a wail against the wall, utterly untouched, and it’s a rough surge of satisfaction coursing through Noct in return. Noctis doesn’t stop, only thrusts harder, faster, the sounds of sex and skin slapping on skin . Prompto’s about to collapse, but Noct’s gripping him steady, holding him up, until Prompto’s limp and mumbling under his breath, words that Noct can’t quite make out. He might be asking Noctis to stop, but Noct doesn’t care, he’s chasing a release that he’s been after, one that can’t compare to anything else.

 

Nobody can compare to Prompto.

 

Noctis bites on Prompto’s neck when he comes, and the taste of blood explodes in his mouth just as his orgasm does. His tail curls around Prompto’s leg, his horns pressing into Prompto’s shoulder as Noctis leans in, as he buries his face into the sweaty, disgusting mess of the vest he’s still wearing. Slowly, he relaxes his grip on Prompto’s ass, arms curling around his waist, and _holding_ him, in an embrace that’s mostly just trying to keep both of them from collapsing.

 

“I hate you, Noctis,” Prompto manages, when he finds his breath. “Fuck, Noct, I _hate you.”_

 

“You love me,” Noctis retorts, laughing. Their tails curl together at the tips, swatting at each other, playing a silly little game of tag with each other. Prompto’s hair is a mess, and so is Noct’s, and they’re both, _finally_ satisfied.

 

Well, mostly.

 

“Fuck, Noct, I’m so goddamn hard, I was _just_ about to get off again,” Prompto grumbles, as Noctis finally releases him and steps away from the wall. He admires his work. Prompto’s ass is marred with fingerprint-sized bruises, and his thighs are chafed. There’s harsh bitemarks on his neck, on his shoulder. His vest is torn. When he turns around, blonde curls are a tangled mess over his eyes, and there’s a trickle of blood running down his lip, more blood over his collarbone, dripping into a messy stain down the front of his shirt, flecks of semen covering his whole front.

 

Prompto’s pants are still shoved down his hips, and his cock is aching and hard and dripping still. He juts his hips out, and bites on his tattered lip, and gives Noctis a _look._ “C’mon, Noct. You’re not gonna leave a guy hanging, are you?”

 

“Totally am,” Noctis agrees. He rolls his eyes and tugs his pants back up his hips, and Prompto _glares._

“Not cool, Noctis. I hate you. I’m gonna go find someone else to eat.”

 


	4. Fistful of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto gets stuffed. And there's feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't like the day 4 prompts so I just asked Numi again and we decided to do fisting with aftercare lmfao i don't even know dude. 
> 
> I have a hard on for loving aftercare and yes I know they're incubi just go with it, okay?!

Noctis and Prompto have been together for a _really_ long time. It’s part of the whole immortality deal that comes with being incubi. It’s probably fate (definitely fate) that got them here, that led them to each other in the first place.

 

That part isn’t important, not today, though we’re backtracking some here.

 

They’ve been together for a number of years at this point. From the perspective of someone who’ll live forever, so long as there’s humans to sustain them, it feels like they’re still in a sort of ‘early dating’ stage.’ Noctis can still remember the days before Prompto, and he’s decided, quite firmly, that he likes having the companionship a lot more. There’s just something _about_ the other daemon.

 

That doesn’t mean that Prompto isn’t driving him _insane_ on a regular basis. Prompto’s needy, with an appetite far bigger than it needs to be. He overindulges, and an incubus with excess energy is a _lot_ to handle. Noct’s used to hunting only when he absolutely needs to, and then napping lazily in the time in between, like a large, deadly cat.

 

Prompto’s just disturbed his sleep. Again.

 

Noctis wakes up to a head between his thighs and a wet mouth curled around his cock and he _sighs,_ and reaches down, curling his fingers around one of Prompto’s curled horns and _tugging_ him away.

 

“Prompto,” Noctis cracks an amber eye open, tipping his head down and yawning, “dude. We just ate like three hours ago. _And_ fucked. I’m tired.”

 

“You’re a terrible daemon,” Prompto pouts, but he’s wiggling against the bed. Noct’s still got a firm grip on his horn, and it’s _sensitive,_ and Prompto’s full of restless energy. He’d _tried,_ he really had. Honestly, Prompto’s appreciating the newfound companionship too. He likes this a lot better. Noctis knows all about Prompto’s _moods_ before they’d started working together, and even if Prompto’s a handful, he’s still _way_ mellower than he was beforehand.

 

Sometimes, Noctis thinks Prompto’s actually trying to tone it down, too. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s an insatiable little shit, though, because even though he’s holding Prompto’s horns, keeping his face firmly away from his cock, one of Prompto’s hands is skirting up Noct’s inner thigh.

 

“Probably a terrible daemon,” Noctis agrees, “but you’re hanging around me. That makes you terrible by extension, too.”

 

Prompto laughs, but it’s a little breathless. Noctis releases his grip on his horn, and Prompto rises up onto his knees, stretching his arms over his head, back arching and chest jutting out, erection already full against his belly, and Noctis can’t help it. He lifts onto an elbow, and draws his eyes appreciatively over Prompto’s form. His tail twitches, and his cock is swelling in appreciation. Goddamnit.

 

“Noctis, _c’mon,”_ Prompto sighs. “I’ve _tried_ ignoring it. I gotta get off, and I _know_ you’ll get pissed if I go hunting again…”

 

“Because hunting just makes it worse,” Noctis snaps back, and a bit more irritation creeps into his voice than he’d intended. He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, his fingers lazily stroking over the rough curve of a horn. “Prom. You need to learn to control that fucking appetite of yours.”

 

Prompto _whines,_ and crawls forward, until he’s straddling Noct’s hips. The colour of his eyes shifts from blue to red to a brilliant pink, and there’s a spectacular pout on his lips. “ _Noct,_ I can’t help it, I just get _hungry.”_

 

Noctis groans. He knows. He never would’ve met Prompto if it weren’t for the fact that his dumbass companion’s got a fierce appetite and mood swings that tend to affect every mortal in _miles._ The mood thing is under control now. The appetite? Still working on that.

 

“C’mere then,” Noctis sighs. He tugs at a horn again, Prompto gasping in response, and pulls him down until their lips are pressed together, wet and needy. As the kiss deepens, Noct works his tongue into Prompto’s mouth, damn near devouring him. It leaves the other daemon gasping, shuddering a little as they part.

 

Incubi sex is… well, their kind don’t usually fuck each other, for lack of a nicer way of putting it. Their venom and charm isn’t supposed to work on each other, but from the moment Noctis and Prompto met, there was something magnetic about the way they’re drawn to each other. It’s still somewhat new, somewhat exploratory, but there’s no denying that their relationship is something of an anomaly.

 

Noctis can practically feel the impatience rolling off Prompto as he flips them, rolling Prompto onto his back and settling heavy over top him. One hand’s stroking over the curve of a brightly coloured horn, fingers running along the ridges from the flared base all the way to the pointed tip. Prompto’s moaning, his hips rocking up, pressing their erections together.

 

“Noct,” Prompto groans, surging up for a kiss again, their lips wet and a thin stream of saliva connecting their lips when he draws back, “I need something _inside_ me.”

 

Noctis laughs, as one of Prompto’s legs curls up around his waist, trying to draw his erection to where he wants it. Noct grinds his hips down, but it’s all _teasing._ Their tails are curling together, their bodies pressed flush, cocks bumping into each other and chests so close that their fluttering hearts – why do they even _have_ hearts?- are beating in rhythm with each other.

 

“I’ll take care of you,” Noctis says, slowly, his lips tracing over the shell of one heavily-pierced ear, teeth nipping into the lobe and tugging, and Prompto shudders his response. “But then you’re gonna let me fucking take a nap, got it?”

 

Prompto’s eyes narrow, a little, even though he tips his head to the side and rocks his hips up, his body totally betraying him. “Fine,” he agrees, “you’re a shitty incubus, Noctis. Can’t believe you’re making me beg for sex.”

 

“You’ll deal,” Noctis pulls away, and sticks his tongue out, as he sits up. Their tails are still tangled, pointed tips poking at each other in a little, lazy battle, and Noctis sits back on his heels, admiring how fucking ruffled Prompto _already_ looks. “Roll over. On your stomach.”

 

Prompto looks like he’s going to protest, but instead, he simply obeys, his tail unwinding from Noct’s and twitching in irritation as he rolls himself over. His hips lift up off the mattress as Prompto lazily rocks his hips down, grinding his cock into the bed, desperate for some affection, and Noctis lazily smacks his ass in response, the satisfying smack of skin-on-skin eliciting a groan and a nice over-the-shoulder glare.

 

As incubi, they don’t really _need_ any assistance when it comes to mortal pleasure. Noct’s cock is hard enough that there’s already precome beading at the tip, and his saliva’s got some _interesting_ properties that make everything feel better. He doesn’t need to worry about silly human things like preparation and _lubricant._ Sometimes, though, Noctis indulges. He can’t help it. It’s in the nature of an incubus to spend too much time around humans that he can’t help picking up on _some_ of their habits. Like, y’know, sleeping in a bed, and keeping living quarters that are disgustingly domestic.

 

Noctis balances on his heels as he reaches for the little vial of oil on the bedside table. His nails – capable of growing longer, and certainly sharper than human ones – are kept trimmed, too, for convenience. Okay, so maybe he’s picked up on more than one human quality over the years. Whatever.

 

Prompto sighs when Noct’s oil-slicked fingers glide down his spine. He wasn’t expecting the delicate touch, that much is certain, but it’s definitely appreciated, the way he’s arching his back up.

 

“Noct, _not_ what I need—” Prompto tries to protest, but his body’s betraying how much he’s enjoying this. Noctis laughs in response, scraping his nails down Prompto’s back, squeezing at the swell of his ass as he works his way down.

 

“I know what you need,” he purrs. Noct nudges Prompto’s thighs apart with a knee, as he moves closer, settling between his spread thighs. “Lift up some, Prom. I’ll take care of you.”

 

Prompto obeys, but he’s grumbling a little. There’s a moment of Noctis simply admiring how _good_ the other daemon looks like this. His face is buried into the pillow, and his ass is perfect, lifting up, tail curled off to the side. His cock looks painful and thick as it hangs, erect, between his thighs, and Noct can’t help but slide a wet hand around to lazily palm at his balls, full and heavy.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto hisses, the impatience winning out, as he juts his ass back, “fuck, dude, _stop_ messing around.”

 

“You’re so fucking impatient,” Noctis rolls his eyes. Sometimes, the only way to stamp this stupid attitude out of Prompto is to tease him, to make him beg and writhe. Incubi, as a rule, don’t necessarily have dominant or submissive sides. They’re merely a vessel for pleasure, a means to extract life from their victims. Things get… _tricky,_ though, when they’re involved in each other. Politics and weird daemonic roles can get involved.

 

Noctis is _definitely_ the one exerting dominance here, and Prompto’s giving in wonderfully, his back arching beautifully as Noct’s fingers drift over his ass, spreading a bit of the slick oil over his tight rim of muscle.

 

“I just wanna get fucked, Noctis,” Prompto hisses, and he _sighs,_ rocking his hips back, when Noctis works two fingers in. It’s not thick enough, not at all what Prompto’s looking for. Hell, Noctis is really starting to learn what Prompto likes, though. They’re what? Maybe fifty years into their relationship, give or take? Noctis isn’t sure. But, even as Prompto’s begging for his cock, mumbling quiet words into the pillow that are muffled by need, Noctis _knows_ what he’s doing here.

 

He works a third finger into Prompto’s ass, and Noctis grins at the way the tight heat grips at his probing digits. They’re incubi, and yeah, Prompto can take it, but that doesn’t mean his ass isn’t tight as all hell, his rim spread wide and _very_ appealing around the thick width of the fingers thrusting into him.

 

“Noct,” Prompto groans, _“more,”_ and Noctis thinks, maybe, his silly companion is finally realizing _exactly_ what he needs. Or hell maybe he’s still begging for a dick. Whatever. Noct’s fingers flex inside Prompto’s ass, spreading him wider, putting pressure into his prostate and making him gasp and tighten and rock his hips back eagerly.

 

“Greedy,” Noctis teases, and now that he’s driving Prompto insane with a talented flick of his fingers over his prostate, over and over, drawing back the friction whenever he can feel Prompto getting close, Noctis himself is in a better mood. He’d been _sleepy,_ after all, and he feels absolutely no remorse about curling his fingers, pressing rough into that sensitive spot, then drawing back, almost withdrawing his fingers entirely from Prompto’s ass, until just the tips are left barely into his trembling hole. Noct waits until he hears the keening whine start to form, then he thrusts his fingers back in, spreading them, watching as it works Prompto’s greedy ass open.

 

“ _Stop_ fucking teasing!” Prompto hisses, his cock drooling a thin strand of precome onto the mattress, when Noctis pulls his fingers back again, and this time, he withdraws them fully. His traces the tip of one finger around Prompto’s entrance, teasing the fluttering ring of muscle, smirking at the way Prompto’s ass is rocking back, and how his thighs are trembling, and his tail is fucking nearly having a seizure with how it’s twitching and thumping against the mattress.

 

“You like being teased. Works off some energy,” Noctis shoots back. He’s dripping more oil down the curve of Prompto’s ass again, though, making a slick mess. His fingers trail through the oil, and this time, he adds a fourth when he works inside.

 

 _“Fuck,”_ Prompto groans in response, hips jerking involuntarily and his cock leaking at the sudden feeling of being _full._ If there’s any pain, it’s because Prompto’s allowing it – they’re incubi, sex is purely pleasure for them, unless they wanna get off on the additional sensation – and Noctis has a feeling that Prompto wants to be stuffed intense and full. It’s a tight fit, Prompto’s ass stretching wide around the four digits as he fucks his fingers into him, all the way up to the top knuckle.

 

“You look good like this,” Noctis teases, with a laugh, and he leans in, pressing his lips right over the delicious swell of Prompto’s ass. His fingers work deeper, twisting and then curling into his prostate, and Prompto moans again. It’s so tight that Noct’s fingers ache a little, and even spreading his fingers, he’s meeting resistance now, the tense mucles refusing to give any more, Prompto fully stretched and open for him.

 

“Just fucking put your whole fist in me, Noctis,” Prompto grumbles, when Noctis starts to thrust his fingers, crooking them into Prompto’s prostate as he withdraws halfway, then presses back in again, hooking them deep inside and slowly working him looser. “I’m not a goddamn _human,_ Noct, you’re not gonna break me.”

 

“I know,” Noctis teases, and he puts intense pressure _right_ into that sensitive spot, until Prompto’s writhing, his ass working desperate little circles as he tries to fuck himself harder into Noct’s hand, his cock red and angry and so swollen. “This is _punishment,_ Prom, you’re being a glutton again.”

 

“Kinda _figured_ that,” Prompto moans, and his breath hitches and his voice trembles, like he’s been crying. Noctis feels like pointing out that Prom’s the shitty incubus now, crying and begging to be stuffed like some human whore would, but, well, that’s overkill. Incubi sex is complicated. They’re far more _equals_ to each other than they’d ever be if they were feeding on someone.

 

“Learned your lesson?” Noctis withdraws his fingers almost entirely, thumb stroking lazily around Prompto’s stretched, swollen rim.

 

“Fuck off, Noct, I—”

 

Noct’s free hand cracks down on Prompto’s ass, and the words come out a _yelp,_ instead, and then Prompto’s shifting, lifting himself up onto an elbow and twisting his head back over his shoulder and _glaring._ His eyes are brimming with tears and his face is bright red and flushed, freckles standing out starkly. His hair’s all caught in his horns, messy and tangled, and Prompto looks _pissed._

“Fine! You fucking win, Noct just fill me, just give—”

 

Prompto’s silenced, again, because Noctis works his fingers back in, and this time, his thumb joins the other four. Prompto’s words break into a moan, and he’s shuddering and arching and it’s got to _hurt,_ but Noct knows it’s because he _wants_ it to. His ass is tight and there’s oil keeping him slick and open, and hell, Noctis leans in, too, running his tongue over Prompto’s tight rim as his hand works deeper, daemon saliva added to the mix. The oil’s got a horrible texture and tastes unpleasant, but taste is such a mortal sense, anyway.

 

It helps, anyway, because Prompto gasps and loosens a little, and there’s the slick sound of Noct’s hand being pulled into his ass. Noctis works the joint of his thumb, the widest part of his hand, inside, and it takes some pressure, some clever twisting of his fingers into his prostate again to get him to relax, but slow and steady, the tight heat pulls him in. Prompto cries out, and he gasps, and he’s desperately rocking back on Noct’s hand as it sinks all the way in.

 

“Fuck, Noctis, I—”

 

Noctis purrs, drawing his face away, fingers flexing and splaying inside as he admires the way it looks, Prompto stretched wide around his wrist. “Calm down, Prom. The way you’re acting, it’s like you’ve never been fisted before.”

 

“Shut up, Noctis, it’s _different_ when it’s you!” Prompto manages to huff out, but he doesn’t sound convincing at all. He’s gasping and keening out, rocking desperately into Noct’s hand, and he keeps _trying_ to look over his shoulder, but he can’t quite manage it. Prompto’s whole body is shaking, and his legs look about ready to give out.

 

Nocits laughs, and then he’s working his fingers, his whole fist, moving in a jerking, twisting motion, his knuckles scraping over sensitive inner walls, tugging at Prompto’s swollen entrance. Noctis can appreciate the appeal in literally _any_ sexual act – incubus, and all – but he has to admit, _this_ is a far more enjoyable than he’d expected. Prompto’s gasping, his whole body trembling violently, clenching down hard on Noct’s wrist and hand so hard it would already be cramping up, if he was mortal.

 

“Come like this, then, if you can,” Noctis says, teasing, as he leans back, _watching,_ his wrist flexing harder, twisting in as deep as he can, his fingers spreading, and when he draws back, he’s grinding in _just_ right. And, those words, damnit, they’re all that it takes.

 

The orgasm that rips through Prompto is _tremendous,_ and Noctis feels it coming, feels it crashing over him, a restless wave of energy rushing through him where they’re joined, tingling up his arm and coursing through his veins. Prompto cries, and the sound’s incoherent, a total mess, clenching down tight on Noct’s hand as his cock twitches and spurts his release messily over the blankets. It’s one hell of a release, and it comes in ripples, each one intense, slowly dying off though, as Prompto screams, then he _moans,_ then gasps, slow and steady, his erection jerking as more come leaks from the slit and drips down onto the blankets. Noct’s drunk on it, dazed and sleepy, before Prompto’s legs finally, exhausted, give out, and he slumps down onto the bed, sobbing in pleasure.

 

“I’ve got you,” Noctis finds himself saying, slowly, as he leans over Prompto. The other daemon’s body is limp and exhausted, and Noctis curls his fingers inside, tucking his thumb in against his palm. It’s less effort than Noct thought it would be, still, to work the widest part of his fist out of Prompto’s trembling ass, and, fuck, it’s a _nice_ view when he withdraws, to see Prompto spread open still, his ass puffy and red and outright gaping.

 

“Noct,” Prompto gasps, his whole body shuddering, his ass trembling, when Noct’s sticky-slick fingers trail over one cheek, “fuck, Noctis, Noct, I—”

 

Incubi, as a rule, don’t experience the same hormones and endorphins that humans do during sex. There’s really no such thing as a sub crash. It’s a different sort of release, though, and Prompto’s just fed a good deal of all that pent-up energy into Noctis. It’s something similar to a crash, and it’s happened before, but never _this_ intense.

 

“Hey.”

 

They might be daemons, yeah, but fuck, Noctis has to admit, he’s _attached._ He loves Prompto, in ways that he’s just starting to realize, and in ways that really, as a daemon, Noctis can’t even comprehend. They work well together. Noctis mellows Prompto out, and Prompto, in turn, lets him keep his lazy lifestyle. And. Okay. So maybe the companionship is nice, too.

 

Maybe Noctis is feeling a _protective_ swell in him, something he doesn’t understand, something that honestly pisses him off some, but nonetheless, he’s indulging.

 

Noctis settles down on his side next to Prompto – wiping his oil-slicked hand off on the bed – and curls his arms around him, tugging him close. Prompto’s shivering, his whole body trembling from the orgasm, from the _release,_ all that excess energy ebbing away. Incubi are always heated to the touch, but Prompto’s a touch colder than usual.

 

“That was…. a lot,” Prompto admits, quietly, and he’s shamelessly leaning into Noct’s chest, his tail swishing and twitching as it twines tightly with Noct’s. Their legs tangle, too, and their horns touch – eliciting another shudder out of Prompto – when their foreheads press together.

 

“I told you,” Noctis lectures, but it’s half-assed, lazy, as he strokes his fingers in wide patterns across Prompto’s spine, all the way from his shoulderblades down to the base of his tail, and back up again. “You gotta learn limits, Prom.”

 

“Shut up, Noct,” Prompto replies, and he manages a lazy little smile. His eyes drift open, and they’re vibrant, still a bit red around the edges with unshed tears, but he’s slowly coming back to himself. “You like having a reason to fuck me.”

 

“Do I need a reason?” Noct’s fingers pause, as he works little circles into Prompto’s back, easing away lingering bits of tension. Prompto’s sighing and melting into the touch, and… well. They’re both silent for a moment, probably both pondering the question. It’s a valid one, really. There’s no reason for them to be doing this. They could both easily sustain themselves in other ways. This is just a matter of preference, and of _enjoying_ it.

 

“… no,” Prompto says, finally, and the smile he offers Noctis isn’t his usual bratty one. It’s a little more tentative. “Guess you don’t.”

 

Noctis nods. Guess he doesn’t.”

 

“Good,” he says, and his tail curls around Prompto’s a little tighter, his head tipping to the side – to avoid catching their horns together – to press a line of kisses, interspersed with lazy bites and rough nips and things that still seem far more _affectionate_ than purely pleasure. “… you feeling okay?”

 

Prompto doesn’t speak, again, for a long moment. He snuggles in closer to Noctis, shuddering as Noctis – impulsively – lifts a hand to stroke along the rough, ridged curve of one of his horns. They don’t touch like _this_ very often, and it’s all sexual play, normally. Now it’s gentle and reassuring and even though he feels Prompto’s cock twitching a little, pressed close as they are, he’s fully sated, and it’s simply enjoyable.

 

“Feel good,” Prompto admits, quietly. His lips are pressed into Noct’s skin, and his breath is a nice, warm puff of air. “Relaxed. Not… on edge anymore.”

 

Noctis knows how Prompto feels. He’d been… well, not restless, and not necessarily hungry, he’d snacked earlier, but he hadn’t fully satisfied his appetite on humans, either. They’ve stopped _killing,_ well, at least intentionally, and Noctis, for some reason, likes it better that way. He’s well-fed _now_ , draining all that anxious energy out of Prompto, and now they’re both sleepy and satisfied and curled together in a messy, ruined bed.

 

“You promise not to wake me up in another hour for round two?” Noctis teases, nuzzling his face into Prompto’s hair, one arm tightening around his waist, the other hand resting gently over the widest, rounded spiral of horn.

 

“Can’t promise anything,” Prompto replies, lazily, but he’s yawning, and for once, he’s not immediately ready to go again, which is really saying something. Hell, Prompto looks like he’s already half asleep, which is good, because Noctis definitely is, too. Noctis smiles, presses a kiss in, and pulls Prompto closer.

 

“Next time you’ll get more than a fist,” he threatens, and it’s mostly teasing, though maybe there’s a hint of sternness. It doesn’t really stick, though, because Noct’s yawning too, and they both laugh, sleepy.

 

“… hey, Noctis?” Prompto mumbles. The yawning is contagious, now, and he fights off another one, snuggling in closer. Noctis swears, maybe Prompto sounds a bit uncertain, but they’re incubi, and they are _never_ uncertain about anything. Confidence and sexuality is in their nature, after all.

 

“Mmm?” Noctis mumbles.

 

“… you’re a jerk, but I love you,” Prompto says, after a bit of hesitance.

 

Noctis blinks. Love. That’s a new one. Prompto’s never said that one before. Noct’s not really sure what love is. Hell, he doesn’t think Prompto knows what it is, either. Their companionship leaves him feeling… well, tight in the chest at times. Noctis doesn’t really believe in all the insane, foolish ideals that mortals come up with. The ideas of soulmates and _loving_ someone, of putting them first is _insane._

 

But, well, okay, maybe Noctis is enjoying this. Maybe there’s a level of comfort, and maybe he doesn’t even understand the ways he feels, when he’s got Prompto in his arms. Oh hell.

 

“Love you too, idiot, now go the fuck to sleep and stop waking me up,” Noctis grumbles back.

 

Damnit.

 

Love it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're in llllluuuuuuuuuurve. <3 also i'm on twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree ~ if you follow @numinoceur on twitter you miiiiight get to see some really nice art. just _maybe_. :3


	5. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Noctis and Prompto met.
> 
> [Bonus Soft Domestic Art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/916153749701140480) Follow Numi for the full version buahaha 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5, I think we made up the kinks again? I got a 4-prompt this time: nipple play, lap dancing, edging, and mirrors. Oh it was _fun_.
> 
> I should be mildly concerned that we're world building here and developing headcanons, and that this may very well evolve into a hot mess by the time we get through 31 days, but whatever. I'm having fun. Just come along for the porny ride, okay?! We may get a plot out of this yet.

Noctis keeps to himself.

 

He likes it this way.

 

Sure, he occasionally chats with Ignis, sometimes Gladio, too, but that’s because in the rough hierarchy of incubi, they’re _technically_ in charge. Occasionally Noctis gets the feeling that it’s not supposed to be that way, but eh. It is what it is. Other than that? Noctis sleeps a lot. He hunts when he has to, and honestly, he’s a bit of a pacifist daemon. He only kills when he has to – and sometimes he simply _has_ to – and then he sleeps it off. It’s a schedule, like clockwork. It’s a bit of a lonely life, but for a creature that’s made of pure sexual energy, it really is a _lonely_ life.

 

Then one day, Noctis notices a change.

 

He’s got his city, a set territory that’s _his._ That’s another thing about incubi. There’s not as much fighting amongst the ranks as one might assume, given that they’re daemons. They’re largely content to keep to themselves, to feed and leave each other alone.

 

So, when people start acting _strange_ in Noct’s little corner of the world, he notices. It’s not just the occasional person here and there, either. It’s like a permanent dark cloud over the city, everyone grumbling and moping, and when Noctis feeds on someone, even in the throes of their orgasm, it’s barely enough to wet his tongue.

 

Noctis knows what this _mood_ is. Only another incubus can affect an entire population’s mood so strongly.

 

Then killings start occurring, people found in the throes of pleasure, their faces icy and forever locked into moans and gasps, mid-completion, and Noctis knows for _sure._ He tries not to kill, but this is a fucking slaughter. It’s gonna cause panic, and that, combined with the bad moods, is fucking with his stability and his security.

 

Hunting down another incubus isn’t as easy as snaring a mortal prey. Noct’s not designed for it. And hell, he’s lazy. He’s a good hunter, silent and deadly, but he’s not _designed_ to catch one of his kind.

 

The first time Noctis spots him, it’s pure coincidence.

 

Noct’s hungrier than usual. He’s had to feed more, because his trysts aren’t as satisfying. He killed someone earlier, and the death doesn’t _shake_ him, but there’s a subtle feeling of loss, like it was unnecessary. And it _was_ unnecessary. Noctis wouldn’t have had to kill if there wasn’t another daemon encroaching on his territory and setting everyone at edge, after all.

 

Noct’s at a tavern. It’s the easiest place to pick up a mortal victim, and he’s feeling sluggish and lazy. Alcohol is a cheap trick for humans, and an even cheaper one for an incubi. He’s sitting at the table, an untouched drink in his hand, watching as the mortals around him become intoxicated and _so_ easy to influence.

 

The chair next to Noctis scrapes, and he _frowns._ He didn’t fucking invite anyone to his table. Then, he looks up, and Noctis doesn’t realize it in this moment, but his whole life’s been changed, in just one instant.

 

It’s a blonde, similar height, similar build. His glamor might be up, but Noctis sees right through it instantly, even if it is. There’s a pair of monochrome horns spiraled on either side of his head, tapering into sharp points. Noctis doesn’t need to look down, but he sees the swish of a tail out of the corner of his eye.

 

“You’re the asshole who’s killing people in my territory,” Noctis says, instantly, on edge, despite the casual drawl of his voice. The amber of his eyes swirls violent, tinged crimson at the edges, and he tips his head, baring his own violet, shimmering horns in a way that’s the slightest bit intimidating.

 

“Oh, is that me?” the other daemon replies, with a chuckle. “Dude. It’s a pretty big city. Didn’t know you’d staked claim to it.”

 

“Bullshit,” Noctis says, instantly, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve been here for over a century. Never had an issue.”

 

The other daemon leans in, and their shoulders brush together, and Noctis _hisses_ at the heated rush of contact. Noct hates the way he’s instantly drawn in, the way he’s intrigued by the other creature. His hair’s a mess of blonde spikes falling around the silvery horns. His eyes are swirling blue and pink, and there’s freckles smattering his cheekbones. His shoulders, too, are freckled, bare and exposed, and his skin feels _good,_ better than it fucking should.

 

“Shame you never learned to share,” the blonde says, lips quirking up into a smile, baring slightly pointed fangs. “Think there’s enough to go around.”

 

“Get out of here, asshole,” Noctis says, eyes narrowing further.

 

“Make me,” and before Noctis can say anything else, the other daemon reaches across the table, wrist flicking to pick up the glass in front of him. He downs it with a gulp, winces just a lust, and hops up from his seat. “If you can catch me, that is.”

 

Then the blonde is gone, disappearing through the room in a blink of an eye, and Noctis realizes that he’s alone again. He can _smell_ the other daemon, but it’s fading, and Noctis has a feeling he’s just signed up for a game of cat and mouse. He sighs. This is going to be _exhausting._ All he wanted to do was sleep.

 

\---

 

Catching an incubus who doesn’t want to be caught can be tricky. Especially when said incubus is, by nature, quicker and more conning. Noctis doesn’t deny that he’s lazy. He’s more catlike than most of his kind, honestly, preferring to lounge about and sleep and venturing out only when he needs to. In Noct’s mind, a perfect day involves playing with his prey a little, a good meal, and then stretching out luxuriously across the bed, tail twitching and head tucked into a nice mountain of pillows while he naps the day away.

 

Of course, now there’s a daemon on the loose, and Noctis grows more irritated every moment that passes.

 

There’s a couple of times when he enters a tavern and he sees a flash of blonde hair, a curve of grey horns, and the other daemon’s gone, in the blink of an eye, leaving Noctis wondering if he’s seen him at all.

 

Another time, he catches a familiar whiff lingering on a night breeze. When he follows it, all he finds is a cooling, dead body, slumped against an alleyway, eyes still glazed over and frozen in orgasmic release. Noctis _hisses,_ and he’s so fucking angry, he finds the next mortal he can and he drags them off. The girl lives, but she’s got a nasty bite mark on her neck, and Noctis _isn’t_ proud of that.

 

“My, my, losing control are we?” a voice says in his ear, when Noctis is fuming silently afterwards, heading back to his own quarters.

 

He spins around, and there’s the other daemon, tail twitching, head tipped, eyes narrowed in something that seems like playful curiosity. Noctis makes a quiet, disgusted noise and takes a step back, putting distance between them. He’s _angry,_ and he gets the distinct feeling that this other daemon is dangerous. Noctis isn’t _scared._ He’s an incubus, he doesn’t know fear. More than that, Noctis can tell that he’s the older of them, and that he’s stronger. Age is a foreign concept in the traditional sense, too, but Noctis gets an aura of impatience, of greed and insatiability from the blonde daemon.

 

He’s fucking fascinated, and Noctis hates that he is.

 

“Talking to _me_ about losing control,” Noctis replies, venom bitter in his tone, “I saw what you did back there. You don’t need to kill them, you know.”

 

There’s a laugh, and a bit of incredulity in the sound. “Uh, dude. That’s our _job._ We’re supposed to kill them.”

 

Noctis takes a step forward. There’s a moment’s hesitance, and then a moment of the other incubus steadying himself, but Noctis doesn’t miss that moment. The blonde was, momentarily, intimidated by him. That’s a good thing.

 

“You don’t need to go on a murdering spree. That’s how people get scared off. No people, nothing to eat,” Noctis points out, and his voice is almost bored, matter-of-fact, and he really can’t believe how _stupid_ this guy is, power-tripping, drunk on his own immortality. It’s an immortality that is only sustainable, of course, so long as their food source remains. “You know how much of a pain it is to move around? Took me _ages_ to get settled here. Everything was fine, too, until _you_ showed up.”

 

The other daemon shrugs, “sounds like a personal problem.”

 

Noct’s eyes narrow further. What the hell is this guy’s problem?

 

“Just go the fuck away. Come on, don’t start shit.”

 

Noctis takes a step forward. The blonde steps back. For a moment, Noctis thinks he’s won. Then, just as suddenly, the other daemon _laughs,_ his eyes sparkling, head tipping to the side. “Make me,” he says, with a laugh.  He turns and takes off, a flourished bounce in his step, and there’s barely a moment’s hesitation before Noctis is after him.

 

Yeah, Noct might be certain he’s stronger, but the wiry other daemon is _faster._ He’s better built for speed, all lean muscle and strong legs. Hell, even though Noctis gets the distinct feeling that the blonde is _starving_ for attention, for energy, he’s still moving with grace and agility that has Noctis feeling a bit jealous. He chases through the dark streets, turns round a corner just in time to see the other disappear into another alleyway. Noctis gives chase, speeding up, a blur of violet daemonic magic crackling around him. He _could_ use his powers, probably catch up, but –

 

No. The other’s gone.

 

Noctis hisses and curses into the night air and stalks off again.

 

\---

 

Whether Noctis actually catches him, or the other daemon allows himself to get caught… well, that’s debatable. A few centuries later, they’ll both deny claim their own separate tales, and they’re sticking with their versions. If there’s a grave waiting for them, they’ll take it there.

 

Noct’s increasingly irritated. There’s been six more bodies, and it’s been a week. Chances are, he hasn’t even _found_ all of them. The mood in town is tangibly bitter, and it’s getting to him. He doesn’t drink – incubi don’t really need it – but the alcohol burns on his tongue and cuts through his sour mood for a few minutes, so he’s sitting at a bar near the mortal quarters he keeps.

 

Noctis smells him before he sees him. Hell, there’s barely a flash of blonde hair and the curl of dull horns in his peripherals as the other daemon ducks into the room. He’s spinning in his chair, draining his glass, and stalking off. The blonde’s chatting up some girl, leaning in and whispering into her ear conspiratorially when Noct’s strong arms slip around his waist from behind, tugging him _flush_ up against the solid warmth of his chest.

 

The daemon falters, just for a moment. The spell’s broken, and the girl he’d been talking to blinks, dazed, and scurries off.

 

“Totally not fair. That was _dinner,”_ the blonde sighs. Noct’s arms tighten. It’s an intimate embrace, except for the drag of his teeth over the other’s ear, the harsh way his eyes are narrowed, the way he’s holding just a _bit_ too tight.

 

“Fuck your dinner,” Noctis growls, “fun’s over. Get out of here.”

 

“I was _going_ to fuck my dinner,” there’s a sigh and then hell, the other daemon’s rocking his hips back, sliding the curve of his ass into Noct’s groin. _Not_ fair. Daemons aren’t attracted to each other – though they can appreciate physical beauty, on a basic level – but it’s been a _long_ week. Noct’s managed a couple of satisfying meals, and he isn’t _starving._ He’s frustrated on a different level, though.

 

And fuck, the way the other daemon’s arching into him, tipping his head back, exposing a long expanse of smooth throat, eyes all glinting, blonde hair tousled as it brushes into Noct’s cheek… fuck.

 

“What the hell do you want?” Noctis hisses. “Why won’t you just go away?”

 

There’s another roll of hips back, and Noct’s getting hard. It’s frustrating as all hell.

 

“Why don’t we _talk?”_ the other daemon says, lazily, “c’mon. I’m sure we can work out an agreement. This city is huge, you don’t need it _all_ to yourself.”

 

Noctis thinks it’s a trap. Fuck, he _knows_ it’s a trap. But hell, he’s frustrated, and he’s finally got this blonde enigma in his grasp. He’s fascinated, too, as much as he hates to admit it. Nothing has really, truly caught his attention in… fuck, _centuries._ He takes the bait. Whatever. What’s the worst thing that can happen?

 

Noctis sighs, relenting. “If I let you go, will you stay?”

 

There’s a pause. Then, a laugh, and Noctis feels the other daemon’s tail thump against his thigh, snaking back to flirt with his own.

 

“My name’s Prompto,” the blonde says, finally.

 

“Noctis,” Noct replies, with a sigh, loosening his grip. He’s still mostly expecting the other daemon – this Prompto – to wriggle free and disappear with another of those carefree laughs and a toss of his head.

 

Instead, Prompto turns. He throws his arms over Noct’s shoulder, and leans in, tongue brushing over his jaw. Noctis takes a step back, and his legs hit the back of a chair.

 

“Sit,” Prompto says.

 

Noctis, out of defiance, should stay standing. Instead, he lazily settles down in the chair, leaning back, eyes narrowed. “Why can’t you go somewhere else? You have your own territory. Everyone does. Hasn’t been a new incubus pop up in centuries.”

 

There’s music playing in the background. Noct’s been ignoring it, in favour of his dark mood, and the bitter burn of the alcohol. Now, though, he’s acutely aware of it. He thinks it has something to do with Prompto. This other daemon has better influence over moods than Noctis does, that much is clear. Even one in a fiercely bad mood shouldn’t put a damper on an entire fucking city, after all.

 

Goddamnit, if he’s letting _other_ incubi influence him, Ignis is never going to let him hear the fucking end of it.

 

But damnit, Prompto’s eyes are shining, and his hair’s tousled, and even his dull, faded horns are shining in the dim light. There’s people around them but none see them – they all seem to look right _through_ them. It’s a glamor effect, one that’s masking them from the world. Noctis doesn’t know what Prompto’s playing at.

 

“I did have my own territory,” Prompto murmurs, but Noct’s only half-hearing the words, because the other daemon’s stepping forward, a hand pressed to his shoulders, hips slowly rocking in perfect rhythm to the background music as he half-straddles his lap. The contact is _electric,_ and it shouldn’t feel this fucking good. It doesn’t make sense. Noctis hopes he’s keeping his guard up, that this fucking Prompto, whoever the hell he is, can’t figure him out.

 

“Go back to it,” Noctis hisses, even as an arm lifts, curling loose and lazy around the other daemon’s waist.

 

Prompto laughs, and his head tips back, chest arching forward, rubbing lazily over Noct’s body, grinding up into him as he perches in his lap. It’s not every day Noctis can say he’s clashed horns with another daemon. And it’s certainly a first, getting a _lap dance_ from one.

 

“Can’t go back,” Prompto purrs. He leans in, their lips almost brushing, hot breath shared between them as his tongue darts out – pierced, because of course it is – to lick at Noct’s jaw. “Gonna have to deal, Noctis.”

 

“We’ll see,” Noctis hisses. Prompto laughs, and pulls away, and for another moment, Noctis think they’re starting the chase again.

 

Instead, Prompto spins around, and now he’s half-perched in Noct’s lap, grinding his ass back against his hardening cock. It’s totally obvious that Noctis is into this. Damnit, he’s a _sex daemon,_ and this fucking creature is dripping sex appeal. How can he resist? Fuck, he thinks Prompto’s into it, too, and when Noctis slides his arm back around, cupping over the front of Prompto’s pants, he’s satistfied that he’s hard too.

 

That’s it. That’s what does it.

 

Noctis is rough when he pushes Prompto up out of his lap. “Come on,” he says, abruptly, grabbing the other daemon’s hand and _tugging_ him. “My place isn’t far from here.”

 

He half expects Prompto to run. Instead, the other daemon laughs and knocks their hips together and follows.

 

\---

 

Noct’s never taken someone back to his place. Why the fuck would he? Mortals are a quick snack, and it’s easier to do it somewhere where Noctis can slip away.

 

Okay, so maybe it’s a little _domestic,_ too, a little bit mortal, to have a bed and a permanent place to call his own. Damnit.

 

“How quaint,” Prompto says with a laugh, as he steps inside and looks around. “You’re _way_ too sympathetic to mortals, Noctis.”

 

“Shut up,” Noctis hisses. The door’s barely closed before he’s got Prompto pressed up against a wall, their lips inches apart again, his fists tangling in the other’s shirt. “This fucking attitude _ends,_ if you want me to even _consider_ letting you stay here.”

 

Prompto laughs, and his hips rock forward again. “That so, Noctis? I’m not scared, y’know.”

 

Noctis _slams_ him harder back against the wall, and the breath catches in Prompto’s throat. For a split second, he’s caught off guard, expression faltering, before the smirk is creeping back over his lips. Damnit, if Prompto isn’t kissable.

 

Noct’s fists relax a little, though, and he releases the blonde. He sighs, and paces the room, perching on the edge of the bed.

 

“You’ve _got_ to stop messing with everyone’s moods, _Prompto,”_ Noctis tries out the name, and he finds that he likes the way it sounds on his tongue, “it’s making it harder for me. I don’t like putting _effort_ into my meals.”

 

There’s a pause, and for a moment, Prompto simply stares, all wide, wild eyes, swirling with colours, flickering with an emotion that Noctis can’t read. He doesn’t _know_ what this other daemon is doing, what he’s thinking. It’s a confusing, intriguing mess.

 

“I don’t necessarily _intend_ to mess with their moods,” Prompto says, slowly, taking a step forward. Noct’s eyes narrow, because that sounds a lot like a confession. His guard is immediately raised.

 

“You’re an incubus. You’re better than idiot mortal emotions,” Noctis shoots back. “Get it under control, idiot.”

 

Prompto’s eyes narrow. He steps forward again, slow and lazy, until he’s standing over Noctis. Even towering over him, Noct’s not afraid, his head tipping back, amber eyes meeting Prompto’s multicoloured, swirling ones.

 

“They’re just _mortals._ Why does it matter, what they feel?” he hisses.

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. “ _Prompto._ Fuck, when’s the last time you had a good meal? You can’t feed properly off someone who’s in a shit mood.”

 

Prompto blinks. He tips his head to the side for a moment, and seems to ponder on that. Suddenly, instantly, it all makes fucking sense. Noct’s eyes widen, just a little, as _understanding_ floods over him. Fuck. When the last time did this idiot have a proper meal? Being constantly hungry, unsatisfied and frustrated… it would have one hell of an effect.

 

“Come here,” Noctis sighs.

 

Prompto’s expression immediately shifts again, and he laughs darkly, perching himself down, straddling Noct’s lap, tail curling around his thigh lazily, “thought you’d never ask, Noctis.”

 

Prompto’s swaying again, immediately, to music that doesn’t even exist. He doesn’t need it, though. It’s a rhythm all his own, his hips undulating and rolling against Noct’s half-hard cock. He arches his back, presses it into Noct’s chest, and Noctis swears he can feel the hard drag of erect nipples already pressing into him, through both of their shirts. Fuck, this incubus is _insatiable,_ and he’s so fucking needy, Noctis can’t even stand it.

 

Noct lifts a hand, tangles it in Prompto’s hair, and tugs his face in. Their lips meet, and the kiss is _fire,_ burning through both their veins. The surprised noise Prompto makes – he’s not used to being the submissive one, obviously – is the hottest fucking thing Noctis has ever heard. And yeah, they’re both incubi, and this isn’t _normal,_ but it’s been a rough couple of weeks, okay?!

 

“You do as I say,” Noctis hisses, when the kiss parts. Prompto opens his mouth to say something, to _protest,_ but Noct’s teeth are sinking into his neck, and he hisses instead. It’s not a particularly hard bite, barely breaking skin, but it means no fucking around, and that message is strongly received.

 

“Whatever,” Prompto shrugs, noncommittally, but he’s shuddering, and his cock is aching through his pants as his hips grind forward again.

 

Still, Prompto’s pliant as Noctis scoots across the bed and drags him along. He’s strong enough to fucking manhandle the other daemon without any problems. They end up perched on the other side of the bed, Noctis sitting back, and Prompto in his lap, facing away, ass rocking lazily back into the hard jut of Noct’s cock.

  
There’s a full-length mirror standing next to the bed. It’s a bit of a vanity thing, if Noctis is being honest. He _is_ a sex daemon, after all. And now, Noctis is admiring his prize. His chin’s resting lazy on Prompto’s freckled shoulder, arms curled around his waist. The other daemon’s panting a little, the bulge visible in the dim light.

 

“Gotta admit,” Noctis says, slowly, his tongue tracing the line of freckles, connecting them with thin, shimmery trails of saliva, “we look pretty hot together.”

 

Prompto shudders. One of Noct’s hands is lazily working up his chest. They’re both fully clothed, and Noctis doesn’t intend on rectifying that any time soon. Honestly, Noctis doesn’t know what he’s doing here. This isn’t something he’d normally entertain, but hell, the other daemon is driving him insane, he’s starving and desperate, and it feels _good,_ touching like this.

 

“We do look good,” Prompto agrees, and Noctis notices how his eyes are narrowed, how focused the other daemon is on the image of them in the mirror, staring back.

 

Noct’s fingers drag over one tight nub of nipple, pressing through the fabric of his shirt, and Prompto _whines,_ a desperate keening noise bubbling up in his throat. He’s sensitive, Noct realizes, with a laugh that’s muffled by his lips pressing into the other’s shoulder again. It’s hot to think about, and hot to watch, as he lazily plucks one nipple with his thumb and forefinger, teasing it into full hardness, until it’s standing stiff and erect, peaking against the fabric.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto hisses, “why the fuck are you teasing?”

 

Noctis doesn’t respond, not at first. Instead, he _rolls_ Prompto’s nipple lazily between his fingers, feels the sharp intake of breath, and the way Prompto’s chest arches forward, silently begging for more.

 

“Because you’ve been torturing me for a fucking week,” Noctis replies, giving the abused nipple a tug. Prompto doesn’t reply, only breathes in sharply again, and Noctis works his other hand up, doling out equal punishment to Prompto’s other, neglected nipple.

 

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Noct doesn’t know what’s better, Prompto’s reaction as he rolls the abused flesh between his fingers, plucks at the nubs until they’re stiff and puffy and visible even through his shirt, or the fucking way Prompto’s staring at himself intently. It’s like he gets off on _himself,_ and hell, maybe that’s the case.

 

 _“Noctis,”_ Prompto whines, and hell, that’s a jolt of arousal, too, because Noctis realizes he _really_ likes the way that Prompto says his name. Oh, fuck, it’s the hottest thing he’s encountered, maybe ever, and that’s a huge problem.

 

Noctis simply keeps his fingers moving though, freeing Prompto’s stiff, abused nipples in favour of rubbing his fingers in slow, lazy circles around the sensitive nubs, teasing with delicate brushes of fingers. The fabric of his shirt’s just making it worse, creating extra friction. Prompto’s staring at the mirror, his eyes wide, his freckled cheeks flushing, his chest heaving and his thighs starting to shake as he straddles them over Noct’s.

 

“C’mon, _please,”_ Prompto whimpers.

 

Noctis pauses. His fingers freeze. Slowly, still with that lazy air of disinterest, Noct drags his fingers down Prompto’s torso. The shirt’s ridden up his belly a bit, revealing a stripe of taut, drawn stomach, abdomen muscles flexing as Prompto shudders and rocks forward.

 

“Look at you,” Noct’s voice is like slow-dripping icy venom as he whispers into Prompto’s ear, fingers dragging under the hem of his shirt and tugging it up. Prompto doesn’t fight it. Hell, he’s arching his back. He’d been bracing one hand on Noct’s thigh, the other reaching behind to balance on the bed, but now Prompto’s arms lift over his head, and he simply allows Noct to get his shirt off.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto hisses, when his chest is exposed, when the slightly chilled air teases his already achingly hard nipples. They’re standing erect and proud on his toned chest, and Noctis drifts his fingers over them again, sighing as the delicate pad of his thumb flicks the stiff nub. His other hand’s pinching and teasing the opposite nipple, and Prompto clearly doesn’t know which to focus on, the teasing pleasure or the near-pain, and it has him writhing.

 

It really doesn’t take much to get him worked up, and Noctis enjoys it _way_ too much.

 

“See, this is what you’ve needed,” Noctis teases, with a laugh. He tortures him a little longer, alternating between pinching and rolling and simply tracing lazy patterns over his areolas, until Prompto whines out a quiet ‘please’, his hips damn well arching off Noct’s lap, ass grinding back down hard on his own aching cock.

 

There’s a thought in Noct’s mind that he should leave Prompto like this. That maybe he should give him a week or so to suffer, just like Noct’s been forced chasing him around. Hell, half the fucking city might die though, with the dark mood it’ll probably inspire. So, instead, he’s merciful. Noctis rakes his hands down Prompto’s stomach, blunt, trimmed nails leaving harsh red lines down over his quivering abdomen. His fingers dip into Prompto’s naval, and trace light over the definition of his abs, and his thumb _digs_ into the v-line of his pelvis as it disappears under the band of low-rising pants. It’s all teasing, and Prompto tips his head and _stares,_ and simply admires the way his body’s reacting to the touches.

 

“You’re a total narcissist, you know,” Noctis murmurs, when he gets Prompto’s pants unbuttoned.

 

“Fuck you, Noctis,” Prompto hisses back. He’s still staring though, so the point is somewhat moot. There’s a bit of wriggling of his hips – he’s either unwilling, or unable, to lift up out of Noct’s lap – but Noctis forces Prompto’s way-too-tight pants down his hips, and Prompto kicks them off, with all the awkward grace that only a really fucking turned on incubus can manage. And fuck, Prompto’s breath catches and this time he outright _moans_ when his eyes turn back to the mirror.

 

Noctis has to admit. It’s a really fucking gorgeous sight. As irritating as the blonde daemon is, he’s a beautiful thing. He’s all perfect, lean muscle, a trim waist and wide hips and _definitely_ a killer ass, though it’s not visible from this angle. His hair’s mussed, and the horns are a monochrome silver – though they seem to almost _shimmer,_ now – curled in tight spirals on either side of his head. Prompto’s eyes burn, and his whole body’s smattered with tiny little freckles. Noct can’t help but trace the lines of his torso down, and he smirks when he gets a good glimpse at the other daemon’s exposed cock.

 

There’s already precome beading at the tip, and he’s achingly hard, full and needy. It’s _definitely_ been too long since he’s had a proper meal, Noctis can tell that much, with how full and heavy his balls are, already drawn up tight to his body.

 

“If you’re nice, I _will_ fuck you,” Noctis agrees. His fingers drum a little pattern against Prompto’s hip, and then he dips down, fingers skirting over the thick, leaking cock nestled between his thighs.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Prompto sighs, but the words don’t sound very convincing, not with the way Noct’s touching him, and the way his body’s trembling instantly in response.

 

“Sure am,” Noctis agrees. Prompto reaches rough for his thigh again, holds on for dear life, and Noct’s other hand slips around Prompto’s waist, steadying him. One clever hand cups and rolls Prompto’s heavy sac between his fingers, feeling how _full_ he is, the other hand encircling his cock, pumping in slow, steady strokes.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto whines, again, and this time, it’s the shortened version of his name. It’s a little burst of affection that Noctis absolutely was _not_ expecting. He almost pulls his hand away, but Prompto looks too damn good, writhing in the mirror, and Noctis is fascinated with watching the way his erection twitches and pulses under his fingertips, reflected back at him.

 

Precome smears over Not’s fingers as he loosens his grip and shifts to trace two fingers right over the weeping slit. The teasing touch has Prompto’s hips jerking, and he makes an embarrassing, needy sound, gasping, nails gripping hard into Noct’s thighs.

 

“Come on, not _fair,”_ Prompto whimpers. Noctis laughs, and he squeezes at Prompto’s balls, feels them clench and draw up tighter, his forefinger teasing the tip of Prompto’s erection in tiny, lazy circles. When Prompto’s breath starts catching, when his words become incoherent gasps, Noctis pulls away, his fist curling tight around the heated flesh again, stroking.

 

They play this fucking game for a while. Every time Prompto’s balls draw up tight, every time his cock starts twitching and his thighs go all tense, Noct pulls away. He’s ignoring everything else, ignoring the aching throb of his own cock, trapped in his pants, painfully hard as Prompto rubs back against him. All Noctis can focus on is keeping the other daemon right on the knife’s edge. Once, Prompto actually starts to come, a thick glob of release oozing up from the slit of his cock, and Noctis _tugs_ hard at his balls, squeezes them, cuts off his release and Prompto wails so fucking hard, it’s amazing the sound didn’t shatter the windows.

 

“Please,” Prompto outright whimpers, when Noct’s fingers curl around him for what must be the tenth time, jerking his cock in slow, lazy strokes, thumbing over the heavy vein that runs underneath, wrist twisting at the top to put extra pressure on the head. His whole cock’s slick with precome, and there’s a thick pool of it on his belly, smeared across his abs and running lazy down the line of his pelvis.

 

“No,” Noct replies, laughing, and he knows it’s fucking cruel. He knows, too, that Prompto’s having the time of his life. His eyes are burning up brighter, horns still shimmering, tail twitching madly. Hell, even his painfully hard cock – swollen damn near purple at this point, heavy veins visible – only seems to thicken further with the denial.

 

Prompto whimpers, and for the first damn time, he turns his face away from the mirror. He sobs a quiet sound, burying his face in Noct’s neck, lips attacking any bare skin he can find, layering hot-wet kisses in. “I need you, Noctis,” he mumbles, as Noctis strokes his cock with a rougher touch. His free hand’s trailing down over his balls, finally sneaking back, putting heavy pressure into the spot behind. Prompto’s words are broken with another sob as Noct rubs his perineum and releases his cock _moments_ before his orgasm’s about to hit.

 

It’s scary, really, how much Noctis has learned about the other daemon’s body in the past hour or so. He thinks, maybe, he’s already got him all figured out.

 

“You want me to fuck you?” Noctis laughs, when two fingers work into Prompto’s ass with absolute _ease._ The other daemon’s tight, but welcoming, desperately rocking his greedy ass down on the invading digits as soon as they work inside. His fingers are only slick with precome, but he doesn’t need any more preparation than that – they’re built for pleasure – and Noctis pointedly avoids crooking his fingers, doesn’t seek out the spot that he knows will absolutely drive Prompto insane. He’s too close to the edge, too close to ending this before it _really_ begins.

 

Prompto whimpers, because it’s not enough. He shifts, tries to spread his thighs wider, to lift his ass up and expose it more for Noct’s probing fingers. A third one slips in, and Noct’s free hand grips rough at the base of Prompto’s cock, keeping him from coming, because the sensation of being _full_ after so long has to be maddening.

 

“Lift up,” Noctis hisses, when his fingers twist sharply – an almost-teasing press where Prompto wants it – and withdraw. For a moment, Prompto’s boneless against him, hips undulating, eyes all wild and wide as he lazily turns his head forward again. Noctis thinks, maybe, he’s finally broken the other daemon, that he won’t be able to move. But, thighs trembling like jelly, Prompto lifts up, just a little.

 

It’s enough for Noctis to finally reach between them and get his own cock tugged out of his pants. He’s been hard for so long, he’s almost as needy as Prompto is. Part of being an incubus, of course, is being able to ignore the discomfort of his own arousal while he’s pleasing someone else, so it’s been a minor inconvenience. Now, though, as Noctis gives himself a rough stroke, positioning between Prompto’s thigh, the slick head of his cock rutting over the curve of the other daemon’s ass, Noct’s reminded of _just_ how much he wants this, too.

 

“Noct,” Prompto shudders, panting, staring at the mirror again, at the image of himself, all trembling need, his cock heavy against his wet belly, his ass slowly jutting back against Noct’s erection, “please.”

 

“C’mere,” Noctis finally says, _finally,_ and he curls an arm around Prompto’s waist and tugs him _down._ They both gasp as Prompto sinks down onto his cock, the tight heat of his ass enveloping him. It’s _good._ Fuck, it’s better than good, it’s better than any mortal Noctis has ever had. He should realize the implications of that, but he doesn’t. He’s lost to the feeling of it.

 

Prompto’s head tosses back and he braces one hand on Noct’s thigh, the other lifting to his own chest to tug and play at a puffy nipple as he begins to rock his hips. Fuck, for all of Prompto’s begging, he _knows_ how to move, knows how to ride a dick – of course he would, given his nature – and he’s fully putting on a show.  He gasps and moans and rocks back against the thick jut of Noct’s cock. Noctis allows it, but there’s a firm hand on Prompto’s hip, _guiding,_ reminding him of just who’s in control.

 

Prompto’s motions quicken, and he’s rocking in circular motions, putting desperate bursts of friction on his prostate. He’s about to come, and Noctis knows it, the way he’s gasping, the way his cock is twitching. Noct grips _rough,_ steadies the motions for a moment, and Prompto _wails._

“Noct, come _on,”_ he’s gasping, even as Noctis holds his hips steady, keeping him from coming. Prompto sounds absolutely desperate, like he might fucking waste away in front of him if he doesn’t get his release, and it fills Noct with such _power,_ so much damn satisfaction, that suddenly the past week doesn’t matter quite so much anymore.

 

“Fine,” Noctis laughs, his voice husky with arousal, and this time, he’s the one slamming his hips forward. Prompto gasps, and his whole body goes limp. All he can do is grasp onto Noctis for dear life, their tails twined tight, as Noctis fucks up into him. It’s all wet, lewd sounds, Prompto rocking back as best as he can, his cock bouncing on his belly with the intensity of it.

 

Prompto just about blacks out when he comes. Noctis feels it coming, he _feels_ the energy in the air. More than that, he feels Prompto _reaching_ for him, trying to draw from him. He could prevent it, easily enough – he’s an incubus too, after all – but hell, Noctis feels it too. They’re siphoning off each other, and it’s a heated, tingling wave, one that he doesn’t understand, but it’s lighting him up on fire.

 

Noct curls his fingers tight around Prompto’s cock, strokes hard as he angles his thrusts better, slams up into him just right, and Prompto’s suddenly wailing, his whole body tensing, his ass gripping so tight it traps Noctis inside. His comes hard, splattering all over his belly, up over his chest, coating Noct’s fingers. Noctis hadn’t intended to come, not really, but it’s too much. Prompto’s ass is clenching around him, and he’s so deep, buried to the hilt. Noct’s teeth break through the skin as he bites down, _hard,_ on Prompto’s shoulder blade, and his hips are spasming, jerking up as he comes inside of him.

 

Prompto’s still limp, not moving, as Noctis presses his face into the sweaty, sweaty skin of his back. His lips are moving, and Noct realizes, belatedly, that he’s dragging his tongue, licking away salt and pressing in kisses. Fuck. He needs to draw away, but suddenly, Noctis is _exhausted._ He feels a little like he’s had a nice, long meal, even though it’s another daemon he’s been fucking, not a delicious mortal to drink from.

 

Noctis lifts his head, slowly, and he flushes as he gets a good look at Prompto.

 

The other daemon is trembling all over, his whole body flushed. His hair’s drooping into his eyes, his cheeks are flushed, and there’s even a line of flushed skin streaking across his collarbone and extending to his shoulders. Prompto’s whole body’s a mess of sweat and semen, and his cock’s softening against his belly as his thighs shake.

 

That’s not what Noct’s focusing on, though. Even half-lidded, the other daemon’s eyes seem brighter, blue burning with red at the edges. And, fuck, the horns, monochrome and pale before, are _bright_ and vivid now, deep swirls of color that match his eyes, bright blue and red and pink, and _goddamn,_ he’s gorgeous.

 

Fuck.

 

Noctis doesn’t know what to do. There’s a deep longing stirring in him to draw the other daemon back, to get them buried under the blankets, and to simply _sleep._ He gets exhausted, so tired after a good meal, that Noct can’t think straight. So that’s what he does. He slips out of Prompto as he pulls him backwards, and they fall into a tangled heap onto the bed, tails still curled together.

 

Prompto doesn’t complain. He barely even stirs, making a sleepy noise as he snuggles in closer to Noct’s chest. Noctis hooks his arms around Prompto’s waist, and the other daemon offers up something that _seems_ like a lazy smile. The blankets pulled up over their tangled bodies, Noctis feels _better,_ warm and happy. He hopes, vaguely, that when he wakes up, Prompto will be gone, and his problem is over. And, even _more_ vaguely, Noctis hopes that he stays.

 

\---

 

Prompto’s still there, when Noct’s eyes flutter open.

 

It’s disorienting, for a moment. Noctis has _never_ shared the night with someone.

 

Well. “Night.”

 

He’s slept for almost a full day, to be specific. Twenty one hours. It’d been late when they’d fall asleep, and it’s still dark when Noctis wakes up, even though the curtains are cracked open.

 

“Sleeping beauty’s awake,” a voice says, lazily, as Noctis becomes aware that he’s not alone.

 

Noctis fights the urge to draw back. There’s a warm body pressed into him, arms curled around his waist. As he blinks rapidly, eyes clearing away the sleep and focusing in on his surroundings, Noctis realizes there’s a face inches away from his. There’s eyes, bright, swirling with color, watching him intently, with a sharp intelligence that jumpstarts his memory.

 

Right. That had happened.

 

“I figured you’d leave,” Noctis admits, with a laugh that comes out a little thick in his sleep-drunk stupor. “… that was kinda the point of this, remember? To get you to leave my city alone.”

 

Prompto laughs, and he tips his head to the side. The spiraled horns are still bright and vivid, and oddly enough, Noctis wants to _touch._

“Oh, come on, Noctis. I thought after a fuck like that, we’d be on better terms,” Prompto teases, his hips upturning into a friendly grin. “… I gotta admit, didn’t think that’d feel so good.”

 

“Of course it felt good. I know what I’m doing,” Noctis rolls his eyes. He’s pleased that he manages to sound irritated, too, as he yawns, though he doesn’t bother to draw away from the other daemon. Prompto’s cuddled in close, and it feels… well, nice. Not that Noctis has been desperately missing any companionship over the centuries, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing to have some company for once.

 

Prompto grins, and pulls away, lazily, stretching his arms over his head. “Suppose ya do,” he agrees, good-naturedly, and Noctis immediately notices the personality shift. All the restless energy is gone, and the other incubus seems pleased, content to joke and tease and lounge about. It’s a nice change.

 

“Your horns,” Noctis points out, tipping his head to the side. “They’d totally lost their colour. I just assumed you were naturally silver…” he shakes his head. That starved, it’s a fucking miracle that Prompto hadn’t absolutely wasted away.

 

“Oh, they changed?” Prompto blinks, sitting up and leaning forward, getting a good glimpse at himself in the mirror. Noctis props himself up on an elbow and watches, curious, as the other daemon examines his reflection in the mirror. Like this, Prompto’s more open, far less guarded, and the surprise that flickers across his face is apparent.

 

“Holy shit, I don’t think they’ve been this bright in…” Prompto trails off, and Noctis doesn’t ask him to elaborate. He doesn’t want to _know._

 

Noctis sighs. The other daemon should’ve left by now. He doesn’t want to think about what that _means,_ that he’s the first proper meal that Prompto’s had in probably _ever._ He really doesn’t want to admit that he’s admiring how _vibrant_ the other daemon looks.

 

The proper thing, of course, is to kick him out. Noct’s not really sure how to go about doing that. It’s definitely not by scooting forward, to curl an arm around Prompto’s waist, tugging him back against his chest again. Somehow, that’s what Noctis finds himself doing, though, his fingers splaying across Prompto’s belly – all messy with smeared dried sex, but it’s not like he cares much about that – and stroking idly.

 

It’s definitely not by leaning in to nuzzle his cheek against the curve of one brightly coloured horn, either. Prompto _gasps,_ and Noct feels him shudder.

 

“Sensitive?” Noctis teases, as Prompto tips his head back, granting him better access.

 

“Something like that,” Prompto admits, with a laugh, “especially when they’re… y’know. Normal.”

 

Normal.

 

Nothing about this is normal.

 

Noctis sighs. “I’ve never brought anyone home before, you know.”  He doesn’t even know why he’s saying the words, and if it’s possible for an incubus to be embarrassed, Noctis is, the way he ducks his head down and his cheeks flush.

 

Prompto doesn’t reply right away, but instead he snuggles closer, and when Noctis pulls him back down again, he goes willingly, and they sprawl back into the tangled mess of blankets and pillows. How domestic and _mortal._

 

“Never had a home before,” Prompto replies. “Didn’t even know it was possible for our kind to _have_ homes.”

 

Noctis shrugs. “Well. I do.”

 

They fall silent. Noctis chews his lip – damnit, it’s a nervous habit he’s picked up over the years from stupid humans – and mulls his thoughts over. He could use another few hours of sleep, and Prompto doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. It’s probably not worth the effort to kick him.

 

“I guess if you want to occasionally come by,” Noctis says, slowly, “y’know. When you’re hungry like that. You can. I’ll help out.”

 

“Inviting me on a second date?” Prompto replies, lazily, scooting back against Noctis until they’re pressed firmly together, skin-on-skin, “you really hang around the humans way too much.” 

 

“Don’t push your luck, asshole,” Noctis snorts, and closes his eyes.  “I’m going back to sleep.” That’s the last thing Noct says, as he drifts off again, Prompto still in his arms. The other daemon stays a while, and when Noctis wakes up again, he’ll be alone. It won’t be for long, though, because Prompto has a place to come back to now, and Noctis, whether he wants to admit it or not, is waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always: tumblr @destatree, twitter @thatdest. numi is @numinoceur. character designs are hers, and the headcanon is kind of a mix of both of ours at this point, but she gets credit for being my partner in crime, as always. <3


	6. Storm Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto still has no real grasp over the extent of his powers~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a cute little idea that numi and i couldn't shake.  
> today's kinks: massages and a bit of body worship~ 8) it's actually quite soft though, haha.  
> [Companion art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/916532758259945472) (follow numi on twitter to see the full thing~)

Things are not going too great for Noctis and Prompto.

 

Noctis sighs.

 

“I didn’t _mean_ to kill the guy,” Prompto’s grumbling, “you know that, right?!”

 

Noctis doesn’t doubt Prompto. He’s well aware that he didn’t _intend_ to take it too far. It doesn’t change the fact that this is the third time it’s happened this week. Prompto doesn’t know when to stop, when to draw off feeding on their victim’s lifeforce, and there’s just something that doesn’t sit right with killing people.

 

It causes panic. And worse, it makes Prompto’s mood darken.

 

Meals just aren’t satisfying when Prompto’s projecting his stormy thoughts on half the damn town. It’s currently foggy out, thick grey clouds blacking out the sun, mist floating in the air, and Noctis knows it’s because Prompto _knows_ he’s agitated. It’s like a landslide, one thing goes wrong and suddenly everything else is swept up in it.

 

“I know you didn’t mean to,” Noctis agrees, sighing. Neither of them are hungry, but they’re not _satisfied,_ either. It’s gotten a lot easier for Noctis, because Prompto tends to overindulge, and Noctis feeds off the other incubus in turn, but the mortal meal doesn’t sit right. Bad moods really _do_ leave the worst aftertaste.

 

“I don’t know how to help you,” Noctis admits, after a moment’s silence. He’s perched on the edge of the bed. Prompto is nervous, restless, too-full of stolen energy, and he can’t sit still. He’s pacing back and forth, tail twitching.

 

“Can’t we just… keep doing _this?”_ Prompto asks, frowning. “Noct, I’ve gotten _better,_ you know I have, it’s just going to take time—”

 

“Three a week is better, yeah, but it’s still _bad,_ Prom. I have one casualty a _month,_ if I’m lucky—”

 

“Well we can’t all be you!” Prompto’s voice escalates, and Noctis shudders at the sound of thunder roaring in the distance. The air feels a few degrees colder. Prompto’s horns aren’t as vibrant as they should be. They’re still brightly coloured, swirled their usual colours, but it’s a shade or two paler. Just a small difference, but it _worries_ Noctis.

 

“Look,” Noctis sighs, “I… had help. When I was born.” Incubi, strictly speaking, aren’t really _born._ They simply blink into existence, and Noctis suspects there’s something about past lives and reincarnation in play, but it’s beyond their comprehension. It’s not their job to know where they came from, or to even really have a purpose. They simply exist for _sex,_ and they do the job well.

 

Prompto’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said I was the only one you’ve ever kept around.”

 

“You are,” Noctis replies, quickly. “I have a couple of friends though. I can contact Ignis. He can help.”

 

Prompto stops pacing, and their eyes meet, and Noctis feels the room drop a few more degrees. He shivers, even though daemons aren’t susceptible to cold in the traditional sense. They still _feel_ it though, and can experience the discomfort of it. Outside, the grey clouds are swirling, coalescing into darker ones, from dreary grey to black stormclouds.

 

“Is ignis an incubus?” Prompto asks, slowly. His tail is thumping against his leg in irritation.

 

Noctis runs a hand through his hair, and strokes along the curve of his horn, nervous. This isn’t good. Prompto is a blessing in some ways, and they _do_ get along well, but. Fuck. He’s still half-wild, and volatile, and he can’t keep his fucking _emotions_ under check. Daemons aren’t even supposed to have emotions! It’s driving Noctis insane.

 

“Yeah,” he says, “he’s… technically a higher rank. He helped me out when I was learning the reins.” It’d been several centuries ago, yeah, but they’re still in touch. Noctis leaves that part out.

 

Prompto’s eyes flash dangerously, swirling more red than usual, and his tail vibrates angrily. “You said I was the only daemon you’ve fucked.”

 

“ _You are,”_ Noctis reiterates, but Prompto’s already turning away. Outside, there’s a _flash_ of lightning, and a clap of thunder that makes the windows rattle. The heavens open up, suddenly, and the tremendous sound of rain pouring down pounds against the rooftop. “Prompto, are you making it _rain?_ Is that you?!”

 

Prompto doesn’t look at him.

 

“Prom,” Noctis stands up, and okay, maybe his voice raises a little, and maybe – just _sometimes –_ Noctis feels emotions too, and right now he’s irritated and annoyed and _pissed off_ and at the end of his goddamn rope, “fuck, Prompto, how do you even do that?! Look, you have to make it _stop._ Everyone’s gonna be in a shit mood now and we were gonna go hunt later and—”

 

“Hunt on your fucking own, Noctis,” Prompto hisses. Before Noctis can say anything, hell, before he can even get up to grab Prompto and stop him, the other daemon’s at the door, and he _slams_ it behind him, so hard the walls shake. Outside, the wind howls and swirls and the rain’s coming down at a harsh angle, beating down on the glass like an ominous war drum.

 

Noctis frowns.

 

He’s never been able to turn the weather. And even when he gets in _moods –_ and all incubi are capable of the occasional bad mood – it’s more of a lingering feeling, giving people slightly bad luck, making a few miserable things happen. Noctis doesn’t manage to turn the entire fucking city into a depressed slump, though, and he certainly can’t conjure up a rainstorm.

 

Prompto will be back, though, Noctis tells himself. They work too well together, and okay. Maybe he dealt with this wrong. But Prompto will come back, and they’ll resolve this issue.

 

\---

 

It rains for a full seven days. Half the fucking city floods. The river rises up over the embankments and everything’s a fucking rainy, muddy, disgusting mess.

 

Noctis only has two successful hunts, if they can be called “successful.” He draws enough energy to sate his hunger, yeah, but it tastes bad in his mouth and leaves him in a fucking foul mood. If Prompto’s not directly affecting his mood, he’s doing it indirectly, because Noctis doesn’t see him. He doesn’t come back to Noct’s place. There’s a couple of times that Noctis goes out after him, but it’s raining so fucking hard it’s impossible to get a sense of where the other daemon might be. It’s impossible to scent him, and if he’s hunting, the dead bodies are buried in water, bloating and rotting, undetected.

 

Noctis would be worried that Prompto’s dead, but, well, the rain doesn’t stop. There’s several violent thunderstorms, and Noct’s pretty sure that they form when Prompto’s mood darkens even _further._ He contacts Ignis, but the other incubus seems to think that his presence merely will make things worse. He’s probably right. Ignis usually is.

 

On the eighth day, Noct’s getting particularly restless. People have started evacuating the goddamn city, and if the rain doesn’t stop soon, there won’t be anyone _left._ It’ll all be devoured by the river, and Noct’s not really sure that he’ll have any luck seducing the fish.

 

Those feelings, however, are second to a certain concern he’s got for a particular daemon.

 

 _That_ part pisses Noctis off the most. He’s an incubus. He doesn’t feel things. So why does it feel like his heart’s wrenching out of his chest? Why is he _afraid?_ He’s never fucking been afraid of anything in his life. Noctis sleeps, as best as he can, but even sleep seems to have lost its appeal. He’s sleeping alone, and he wakes up shivering, missing the comfort of another body curled lazily next to his. Fuck this.

 

The rain seems to die down, just a _little,_ by the afternoon on the eighth day. It’s around the time that Noct’s senses prickle. He gets a _feeling._ It rouses him from his sleep, and he lazily crawls to the edge of the bed and _waits._

The door clicks open. There’s a lock, but locks don’t keep daemons out, especially not ones who essentially live here.

 

Prompto’s soaked to the bone when he shuffles in. Noct’s eyes narrow. The other daemon looks like he’s seen better days. He’s wearing an oversized sweater with the hood drawn up tight over his head, shrouding his face. Noctis knows better, though, and he can _smell_ the weariness on the other daemon. He can feel how exhausted Prompto is, with the way his tail’s curled around his thigh, the normally restless tip of it dull, lifeless.

 

Noctis doesn’t care that there’s water dripping everywhere as Prompto makes his way across the place.

 

“Wondered when you’d come back,” Noctis says, lazily. He doesn’t think Prompto’s going to run off. And if he does? Well, it’s obvious, given his state, that Noctis might actually be able to catch him, _for once._ That’s saying something.

 

Prompto had known he was there, of course. He might be tired and worn down, but his senses are still alert and sharp. “I’m just getting my stuff, Noctis,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice, but none of the usual emotion in his words. “I’m only here for a minute.”

 

“You’re hungry,” Noctis states in return. It’s not a question.

 

“I’ve been eating,” Prompto snaps back, instantly. The words betray him, and Noct’s damn well aware that they’re a lie. Prompto’s a shit liar. He always get a weird look on his face, and his words are spoken just a bit too quickly, and his tail twitches in _just_ a certain way. Noct’s eyes narrow.

 

“Take off your hood,” Noctis says, sliding out of bed. The glare Prompto shoots him betrays everything.

 

“Why should I?” Prompto asks, his hands clenching into fists.

 

“Because you’re dripping wet,” Noctis points out, “and that sure as hell isn’t comfortable. C’mon, Prom, you’ve made it rain for a fucking week. You’re going to chase everyone off, dude.”

 

Prompto’s eyes narrow. Noctis knows he has a point, and Prompto knows it too.

 

“Whatever, Noctis. You wanna see?! Fine.”

 

Slowly, his fists relax. He lifts his hands up, and tugs the hood down, and Noct knows what he’s going to see, before he sees it. Noctis, see, he’s figuring Prompto out. Prompto tries really hard to keep things from him, but he’s not a very guarded person. When he’s all full and warm and relaxed, he opens up, and he smiles a lot. He laughs a lot, too, more than Noctis had expected. He’s learning how to read his companion like an open book. So, when the shock of monochrome horns stand stark against his wet blonde hair, Noct’s not surprised. Fuck, it’s bad. It’s not quite as bad as their first meeting – it’s only been a week – but Noctis has the feeling that Prompto hasn’t eaten at all since then.

 

“You don’t need to hide from me, y’know,” Noctis says, slowly, as he stalks over to Prompto. A hand lifts, and he cups one of the other daemon’s pale, wet, freckled cheeks. Prompto shivers, but Noctis knows he won’t draw away. Noct’s hand is too warm, and Prompto’s _starving,_ he’s fucking touch-starved.

 

“… I wanted to make it stop raining, first,” Prompto admits, even as his body betrays him, and he leans into Noct’s touch, sighing in pleasure at having _contact._ “I tried, Noctis. I really _am_ trying.”

 

“I know,” Noctis says, “starving yourself doesn’t exactly fix a bad mood, Prom.”

 

Noctis, honestly, expected himself to be pissed off. Prompto’s been making his city miserable. There’s probably a fuckton of water damage. There’s like two feet of standing water outside, and the river’s eaten up part of town already. He’d been ready to scream and yell and tell Prompto what a fucking _idiot_ he is.

 

Instead, there’s a strange feeling bubbling up inside. It’s starting in his chest, where his heart would be, and it’s spreading warm… relief, maybe? Something that feels good. Something that Noctis doesn’t understand, as he reaches for Prompto’s hand.

 

Prompto pulls his hand back, that stubborn flare still rising in him. “Weather was too shitty to eat. I didn’t do it on _purpose,_ Noct. Just wasn’t hungry.”

 

“You need to eat,” Noct says.

 

Prompto glares, but when Noctis reaches out again, he grips tight at Noct’s hand, lets himself be led backwards.

 

Noctis sinks down, and he pulls Prompto down into his lap, wet clothes and all. The second Prompto’s straddling his lap, the second their bodies come into touch, there’s a shift, a sudden, instantaneous one. Noctis realizes he’s _needed_ this, maybe not as badly as Prompto, but fuck, he’s tangling his fingers in the other’s hair, tugging Prompto in for a kiss. Their lips clash, and it’s electricity, and outside, there’s another tremendous flash of lightning.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto’s trying to mumble against Noct’s lips, but Noctis is kissing him deep and hard. He’s dominating the kiss, and all Prompto can do is open his mouth and let Noct’s tongue in. Noct’s fingers tangle rough in Prompto’s hair, tugging him closer, damn near devouring him with an exploring tongue and the drag of teeth over his lower lip. Prompto’s arms hook around his neck, and his hips rock in, and his body’s warming up, even through the cold, wet clothes that are clinging to him.

 

Outside, the rain seems to dull, just a little, though there’s still thunder clapping and dark clouds swirling overhead.

 

Noctis drags them backwards, and he pulls away, just long enough for fingers to frantically rip at Prompto’s sweater. The fabric clings and sticks, all wet and dripping, and Noctis gets frustrated with it, simply opting to _rip_ the damn offending sweater to shreds. Prompto’s pants meet a similar fate, and then they’re kissing again. Prompto’s wet lips heat up fast, and he’s gasping, outright bucking his hips, his half-hard cock jutting into Noct’s belly as they go in for kiss after kiss.

 

Their lips are both kiss-swollen and red when they part to breathe. Foreheads pressed together, Noctis catches Prompto’s gaze, and there’s more of that strange _relief_ when he realizes the other daemon’s eyes are just a bit brighter. He’s already calming down some, and so Noctis dives back in. His lips work a hot, wet line over Prompto’s jaw, chasing away the final drops of rain clinging, tracing freckles. He’s focused, and Prompto writhes and sighs as lips tease over his ear.

 

“Noct,” Prompto sighs, and Noctis goes back in for more heavy kissing, drowning out Prompto’s sighs and his pleas and everything else with a talented tongue. One of his hands lifts to curl around one of Prompto’s curved horns, and even though it’s not as sensitive as it will be when it’s fully coloured again, it’s still enough to have him gasping and leaning in.

 

Noctis doesn’t respond, he’s too busy with more of those heavy, heated kisses. His fingertips trace over the textured ridge of Prompto’s horn, running in spiraled circles from where it erupts out of his skull all the way to the pointed tip. Prompto’s writhing in his lap, and when Noctis breaks the kisses again to press a tiny, gentle one right at the corner of the other daemon’s mouth, they’re both smiling, somehow.

 

Outside, the rain is slowing, and the windows aren’t rattling anymore.

 

“It’s a mess out there,” Noctis murmurs, as his lips drag down over Prompto’s throat, pausing to nip in a sensitive place, to suck in rough at another spot, leaving a bruised mark that will fade by morning. “Think you just need to relax, Prom.”

 

Prompto’s fingers are gripping at Noct’s shoulder, and his head tips back. “Mmm, maybe you’re right,” he agrees, in a bit of a daze. Honestly, Noctis gets the distinct feeling that Prompto’s overwhelmed. He doesn’t think _anyone’s_ touched him in a week, not even a shitty mortal fuck, and it’s obvious, by the way Prompto’s responding.

 

“Come here,” Noct’s voice is quiet, as he trails his lips over Prompto’s collarbone. When he lifts away, he’s shifting them, getting Prompto turned around and pressed down onto the mattress on his stomach.

 

Prompto whines, and lifts his hips up, trying to draw onto his knees, but Noct’s hand’s at the base of his spine, holding him down. He crawls over, straddling Prompto’s hips, keeping him pinned down.

 

“You need to eat slowly,” Noctis points out, as he shifts his weight, gets comfortable as he perches over Prompto. His hands drag slow and lazy up Prompto’s spine, and they both sigh at the contact. Prompto’s skin is already warming to the touch, and he nods just a little in agreement.

 

“Do what you’re gonna do, Noct,” Prompto’s words are broken by a gasp, when Noct’s fingers start to massage into his shoulder blades. They don’t carry tension the way mortals do, either, but after a fucking week of being on the streets in the pouring rain? That’d have an effect on _anyone,_ even an incubus. There’s a tight knot under one shoulder, and Noct’s fingers knead and play at it until Prompto’s gasping and whimpering and fisting at the blankets.

 

“Stop moving around so much,” Noctis teases, as he shifts his attention to the other shoulder, and the knot there isn’t nearly as bad, but it still pulls a choked sob from Prompto, the poor thing horribly touch-deprived and oversensitive.

 

Prompto tries to grumble a response, but Noct’s fingers are digging into the back of his neck, right at the base of his skull, working away heavy, throbbing pressure, and Prompto simply whines.

 

It’s a miracle that Prompto sits still at all, because his ass is wriggling up and Noct’s half-hard cock occasionally slips between the cleft of his cheeks. Prompto _wants_ it, and Noct does too, obviously, but the longer he spends working Prompto’s back, fingers simply kneading and dragging and nails scraping dull lines over his skin, the more the rain seems to slack outside. By the time Noct’s working his fingers into Prompto’s sides, it’s simply a normal, steady downpour instead of a raging hurricane.

 

When Noct’s thumbs dig into the dips at the base of Prompto’s back, right over the rise of his ass, massaging circles around the thick base of his tail, the rain almost seems like a pleasant shower. Prompto’s still whining, breathing heavily, his wet, tousled hair a mess, horns still dull, but as a whole, he seems almost back to normal, _alive_ again.

 

Noctis laughs, and he shifts his weight better, scooting back so he’s perched over Prompto’s thighs. A hand lifts to his lips and he sucks on two fingers thoughtfully, before they drift back down to Prompto’s ass.

 

Prompto _whines_ when Noct’s saliva-slicked fingers slip past the tight ring of muscle, opening him up. He hadn’t been expecting it. He’s horribly relaxed, and he eagerly bucks into the fingers, ready and desperate for it.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto sighs, when Noctis adds a third finger, puts a bit of pressure into his prostate before slipping out again. Noct’s cock is already fully hard – it has been for a while – and he’s ready, he’s _so_ fucking ready.

 

“Roll over,” Noctis purrs, as he scoots back onto his heels. Prompto’s sluggish, lazy to move, but he shifts onto his back, arching up a little, putting himself on display for Noct’s approving eyes.

 

Noctis doesn’t expect the rough surge of emotion to swirl through him. He’d expected the usual arousal, the usual pleasure at seeing Prompto all spread out and ready for him. Prompto’s eyes are lidded, and his cheeks are flushed, and even though the horns aren’t the colour they should be, they still look good, his hair all mussed out. His chest’s heaving, his cock aching, and Prompto lazily lifts a leg, curling it around Noct’s waist and tugging him in.

 

Fuck, though. Noct’s not sure _what_ the hell he feels, as he leans over Prompto. There’s something in his chest, a tight feeling, and there’s something drawing another one of those slow, lazy smiles out of him. He doesn’t wanna think about it, so he doesn’t, instead dragging his hands up Prompto’s belly, scraping more of those long, red lines over his abdomen, up his ribs. His fingers splay over Prompto’s chest, feeling the thumping of his heart, the erect buds of his nipples, and they _both_ make a pleased sound. Prompto’s needier, but, fuck, Noctis is feeling _things._ And it’s not an unpleasant feeling.

 

“Noct, please,” Prompto sighs, and Noctis shudders. He braces over Prompto, and their lips find each other’s again, as he presses close. It’s another one of those hot, needy kisses, swiping tongues and quiet gasps into each other’s mouths, as he pushes inside, and fuck, it’s been a _long_ week, and the world ebbs away.

 

This shouldn’t feel the way it does. It absolutely shouldn’t. Incubi have a role to play in the world. They’re here for sexual pleasure. There’s always an element of dominance. Even when it’s the two of them, Noctis and his new companion, one of them is always taking command. Usually, it’s Noctis, though Prompto’s got one hell of a wicked side, and it’s been coming out stronger and fiercer, the more time they spend together.

 

Right now, though, neither of them is surging for dominance here. Fuck, they’re kissing, but it’s lazy and half-hearted, more frantic presses of lips, open-mouthed moans against each other, than anything else. Prompto’s got both legs curled around Noct’s waist, but he’s meeting him mid-thrust, lifting up off the bed as Noctis drives in. Even the pace isn’t as brutal as it normally is. It’s fast and perfect thrusts of Noct’s hips, yeah, going deep and splitting Prompto open _perfectly,_ but there’s nothing rough about it, nothing violent. It’s somehow needy and frantic without being all the other bits that come with their sex, too.

 

Noctis _can’t_ comprehend it, so he doesn’t. He simply braces heavier against the mattress and pivots his hips and _moans_ when Prompto gasps into his mouth, when he clenches tight around his aching cock with every drive rough against his prostate. There’s familiar swirls of energy starting to wind up around them, and _that’s_ almost a relief in itself, because that’s something Noctis knows, something he recognizes, and fuck, Prompto _needs_ it.

 

“Noct, fuck, I—” Prompto hisses, when he feels it, and a leg falls from Noct’s waist. Noctis groans his response, and he reaches, tugs Prompto’s leg up higher, propping it over his shoulder. It shifts the angle, and Prompto’s head tosses back, breaking their frantic wet half-kisses as he _cries_ out with the delicious change. It’s got the head of Noct’s cock scraping into his prostate with every thrust, and now everything’s building up faster, needier. Noct almost draws back, almost wants to keep this going _forever,_ but more than that, he wants Prompto to feel good, be his usual self again.

 

“Come on,” Noctis encourages, his lips finding the smooth expanse of Prompto’s neck, nipping and sucking and pressing wet, frantic kisses down the bob of his throat, “ _Prom,”_ and there’s something betraying, something desperate in Noct’s voice that gives away way too much. He probably doesn’t need to do it, either, because Prompto’s clenching tight around his cock, rocking his ass up and meeting the thrusts, so close already, but Noctis still reaches down. His fingers curl around Prompto’s erection, aching on his belly, and he jerks him in time with his rolling hips.

 

Noctis somehow comes first. _That’s_ new, and he hadn’t even realized he was on the verge of orgasm until the world goes black, until he’s snapping his hips forward and burying himself to the hilt and spilling, wet and messy. Prompto’s barely a second behind, and when Noct’s thumb swipes over the head of his cock, when he feels the wet heat filling him, he’s gasping and coming across his belly.

 

What happens in the quiet moments that follow, Noctis doesn’t know. He’s not sure what’s going on at _all,_ honestly. This isn’t their usual sex. It’s a lot of coming down, a lot of the two of them pressed together, silent except for quiet sweet nothings falling from Noct’s lips, practically just breath against Prompto’s skin. Noctis feels sluggish, _drained,_ like he can’t move. He’s satisfied, though. Worse, he’s _happy._

“Noctis, you’re crushing me,” Prompto groans, after a while, and Noctis realizes he’s collapsed heavily on top of Prompto. He laughs a little, and pulls out, rolling to the side to settle down next to the other incubus.

 

“You deserve to be crushed, after the shit you pulled,” Noctis grumbles, but it’s all half-heartedly, mostly teasing. Prompto laughs a little, and he snuggles closer. The horns are bright and vivid again, their natural colour returned, and for some reason, that makes Noctis feel even better.

 

“You’re the asshole who started it,” Prompto says, but he’s tucking his head under Noct’s chin, and Noctis is allowing it, curling his arm around the other incubus and dragging him in.

  
“Am not,” Noctis rolls his eyes, even as he’s pressing a kiss into one of those brightly coloured horns, making Prompto whine and _squirm,_ oversensitive and needy. “You’re the asshole who disappeared for an entire fucking week. Were you just gonna starve yourself to death?!”

 

Prompto laughs, and he lifts his head – pulling his horn out of reach – to offer Noctis his best petulant smile, eyes glinting. “Nah, dude. I came back, didn’t I? You _totally_ went easy on me, too. I freaked you out. You were _worried.”_

 

Noctis opens his mouth to protest that he wasn’t fucking worried, but… well. Okay. So the lack of dead bodies, the total disappearance, the sight of Prompto, soaking wet and dripping, pale and weak, it’d left a horrible churning in the pit of his stomach. Fuck.

 

“Don’t think that gets you off the hook,” Noctis grumbles, “you fucking drowned half the city, Prompto, because you’re being a stubborn asshole.”

 

Prompto simply snuggles closer, and he looks ridiculously content. “Not raining anymore, though.”

 

Noctis cranes his neck and looks out the window. Prompto’s right. The rain’s finally stopped. Hell, outside, the clouds are starting to break, too, and it looks like the sun’s coming out.

 

“So, every time one of your shit moods ruins the weather, I’m supposed to fuck you till you’re happy again?” Noctis sighs. “Why can’t you just learn to control it?”

 

Prompto shrugs. “Sex seems more fun. Besides, Noct, I keep telling you. I _can’t_ control it.”

 

Noctis can’t disagree with that. “You better not ever pull that shit again, Prom.”

 

“The weather thing? Can’t help it, buddy,” Prompto teases, snuggling in closer again, pressing a kiss into Noct’s shoulder as he closes his eyes, content to nap here, now that he’s warm and fucked and pleasantly full.

 

“No. The disappearing.” Noctis sighs. He’s tired too, though. He hasn’t slept properly in a week, and that dull, twisting feeling in his gut is _finally_ easing away. He’s simply content now.

 

“So you did miss me,” Prompto sounds satisfied.

 

“Shut up. Go to sleep.”

 

Prompto laughs, and Noctis doesn’t care that he definitely came out the loser here. His heart is doing weird things and he’s not sure why he feels so content. He’ll worry about it later.


	7. Knots and Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto gets tied up, the little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7. We survived a whole week. Also, I've written 30k words of porn in a week and my wrist hates me now LMAO. 8) 
> 
> Today's kinks were: bondage, wax play, sensory deprivation. But uh, it ended up being more shibari than actual bondage. So the bondage is gonna be tomorrow, lmao. <3

One of the benefits of being an immortal sex daemon is that really, no idea is _out there_ anymore.

 

Noct’s heard it all. He’s seen it all, too.

 

He has to admit, though, sometimes they get a little _soft._ It’s nice, having companionship. Hell, it’s nice having _Prompto_ at his side. The two of them feed off each other, of course, and they have a _lot_ of sex, but sometimes Prompto points out that they’re getting _domestic,_ and Noctis, unfortunately, is inclined to agree.

 

Right now, though, he has Prompto coiled up in delicious loops of silky black rope. It’s been a couple of _years_ since Noct’s gotten to tie his daemon lover up, and he’s sitting back, admiring his work.

 

Prompto’s squirming a little already. That’s a good thing. It’s another of those days where Prompto’s had a _little_ too much to eat. Not as bad as it is sometimes, but he’s got that buzz of excess energy, that little bit of extra edge to his impatience.

 

“Sit still,” Noctis chides, and really, Prompto doesn’t have much of a choice.

 

He’s on his knees, arms tucked behind his back and coiled up neatly at the small of his back. There’s a thick maze of rope weaved all over his body. It starts with a thick knot around his neck, waving down the center of Prompto’s chest in a thick braid, branching off to twist and twine around his sides, knotting in the back as well, then back around, looping around his cock and balls and tucking into the curve of his ass. Prompto’s hands are pinned right over his tail with thick knots that weave all the way up his arms, not digging in tight enough to kill the circulation – well, not that incubi really have that, either – but it’s a bit uncomfortable, in the sense that he can only vaguely wriggle around.

 

There’s rope coiled down around his thighs, too, and it’s all topped off with a spreader bar secured around his ankles, holding his thighs apart. Prompto’s breathing heavily, his cock already hard and twitching, jutting forward from the rope prison weaved around him. It’s been a lot of simply _sitting,_ and _watching,_ as Noctis worked, weaving the soft rope in patterns over skin and muscle.

 

“Noctis, this is taking _forever,”_ Prompto hisses, trying to shift a little. The rope restraining him, and the spreader bar keeping his thighs apart, makes it difficult to do anything other than wiggle a little.

 

“Careful or you’re going to lose your balance,” Noctis replies, instead, laughing a little. He’s sitting back on his heels though, dragging his eyes appreciatively over his work. And _work_ is definitely the word for it.

 

There really is a certain level of appeal to seeing his incubus lover all wrapped up in intricate twists and knots that all twine together. It _flows._ And hell, the dark rope looks good over Prompto’s freckle-smattered skin.

 

“Does it feel okay?” Noctis tips his head.

 

Prompto, of course, has the decency to narrow his eyes and _glare._ “It’s _bondage rope,_ Noctis. This shit feels like butter. You could’ve used something rougher, y’know!”

 

“Sorry for being considerate,” Noctis rolls his eyes and reaches for the thick, black scarf lying next to them on the bed. “Next time I’ll just give you rope burn.”

 

Prompto shrugs. “A little pain doesn’t hurt anyone.”

 

Noctis hears the way Prompto’s breath hitches, though, when he winds the silky black scarf over the other daemon’s eyes. He twines it around the spirals of his horns, too, and Prompto sighs and shifts a little more in his bindings at the teasing bits of contact.

 

“You’re a painslut, Prom,” Noctis teases, when he’s satisfied that Prompto can’t see. He lazily slides a hand over Prompto’s jaw, fingers tracing the curve of it, and the responding _shudder_ is incredibly satisfying. Realistically, Prompto’s an incubus, and if he _really_ wanted to, he could break through the rope binding him up tight. Why would he _want_ to, though?

 

“So what if I am?” Prompto shoots back, sighing when Noct’s fingers lazily trace over a thick pattern of rope running down his chest, dipping into the little gaps in the weave to brush over bare skin.

 

Noctis laughs a little, and draws his hand back. He’s set the atmosphere nicely. There’s a nice soft bit of rain outside – not Prompto’s work, for once – and the lights are off. There’s a few candles burning. Noctis misses the old days sometimes. Yeah, there’s a lot of things he _loves_ about mortals, like video games and movies and ice cream, but nothing really beats the soft, flickering glow from candlelight. The scent in the room is lightly fragrant. It’s… homey and comfortable and oddly erotic.

 

“Safe word?” he asks, voice quiet, as he shuffles closer, until their bodies are nearly pressed together. Prompto shifts his weight again, and Noctis can see the way his shoulders tense and the muscles constrict as they’re drawn back.

 

“ _Noctis,”_ Prompto replies, and even though his eyes are covered by the scarf, Noctis hears the way they’re rolling back in his head. “We’re _incubi._ What the fuck do we need a safe word for?!”

 

Noctis rolls his eyes right back, “uh, dude, because I don’t want you panicking. Remember that time you flooded the city?”

 

“That was a _long_ time ago,” Prompto sighs, “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up.”

 

“There was the tornado, too,” Noctis shoots back. He leans in, brushing his lips lazily over Prompto’s jaw, and the other incubus shudders again.

 

“Ah – it was only a _small_ tornado… it just took out a trailer park, Noctis, nobody’s gonna miss that….”

 

Noct’s teeth nip into Prompto’s jaw – another tremble coursing through the other’s body – and then he draws back, shaking his head. “Red, and I stop. Got it?”

 

Prompto sighs and nods his head a little. “I’m not gonna cop out, Noct. It’s _fine.”_

 

They’d tried using silly safe words for a while, of course, and Prompto had trolled Noctis mercilessly by screaming out random silly safe words (“kupo!” in the middle of an intense orgasm was the best one) and making him stop. So, why mess with a good system Prompto’s right, anyway. He _never_ actually uses the damn safe word.

 

Noctis has just gotten _way_ too domestic. Well, that and he really _doesn’t_ want to destroy half the city by overwhelming his antsy, impatient daemon boyfriend.

 

“You look good like this, y’know,” Noctis murmurs, quietly, as he lifts his hands again, lazily skirting them up Prompto’s sides. The lift of the rope from his skin feels _nice._ Prompto’s body is heated, slightly flushed, as Noctis dips the pads of his fingers in the gaps between the rope. He lazily pulls at a nipple, and then runs his fingers feather-light down his belly, stroking slow and teasingly over the length of his hard cock.

 

Prompto whines and shifts, and tries to rock his hips forward, but he can’t very well, not with how his thighs are restrained, or how the spreader bar’s got his weight distributed. He’s biting his lip already when Noct’s fingers curl around his cock, loosely jerking it with a grip that isn’t tight enough to be satisfying _at all._

 

“Noctis, this is _torture,”_ Prompto groans, wriggling his hips as best as he can. Noct draws his hand back, sharply, and smacks Prompto’s thigh in response.

 

“You’re going to learn patience one of these days, Prom,” Noct’s voice is a lazy drawl, and he’s kind of proud about how _bored_ he sounds. His own erection is hard against his belly, and he lazily slides a hand down the toned length of his abdomen to give it a couple of good, hard pumps. Prompto _whines,_ and Noct’s pretty sure he can tell that he’s touching himself, even if he can’t see it.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto’s voice takes on a quiet desperation. “C’mon.”

 

“I’ve been trying to beat some patience into you for like three hundred years, Prom,” Noctis gives himself another good stroke, thumbing over the head, and he doesn’t bother to quiet the little _sigh_ that escapes. Prompto’s lips twitch and his hips try to flex again, but he fails miserably. “Maybe _this_ will sink in.”

 

“Dunno. It’s been way longer than three hundred years,” Prompto points out, and his shoulders shake as he tugs at the bonds half-heartedly again. Neither of them are even entirely sure how long it’s been at this point. _Time_ becomes such a silly concept when you’re immortal. “Don’t think you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

 

“Maybe,” Noctis agrees, with a laugh. He gives himself another good stroke and then pulls his hand away. His fingers are slick with precum, and he lazily wipes them on Prompto’s thigh – earning another little quiet, needy sound – then reaches across the bed. One of the candles has been burning down for a while now. It’s a deep red, and the wax is pooled in the sunken middle of the camera, where the flame dances and licks as it burns its way down the wick.

 

“I’ve been pretty good to you lately, though,” Noctis points out, with a quiet laugh. His tail’s lazily curling around one of Prompto’s thighs, as he straightens again, the candle in hand. A bit of the thin, hot wax runs down over Noct’s fingers, and he shivers as it burns in, a little sear of pain before the wax hardens over his heated skin.

 

“Good?” Prompto laughs. “Dude, you torture me every chance you get.” He’s still squirming half-heartedly, and Noct’s damn well aware that Prompto’s slowly going insane with the _waiting_ part. He’s also aware that Prompto really likes the whole torture thing.

 

“I should leave you here, y’know,” Noctis says, idly, leaning forward again. The candle’s held between them, and he lazily holds it closer to Prompto, lets him feel the heat of the flame. It has Prompto _squirming,_ because he can’t see, can’t move; he can only _feel._ “Could go get a nice snack while you _wait,_ all good and obedient for me.”

 

Prompto does his best to sit still, to keep the lower half of his face, the one that’s not all wrapped up in silk, neutral. He’s not good at it, though, and that makes Noctis smile, as Prompto’s lip twitches and his weight shifts around again. “I could break out pretty easy, y’know.”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, “but I’m telling you not to.”

 

Prompto swears quietly under his breath, and Noctis laughs.

 

“C’mon, Noct, _please,”_ Prompto sighs, impatient. His cock’s fully erect and it bounces a little as Prompto tries to adjust again. His thighs must be aching a bit from the angle, from being propped up on his knees, the spreader holding him open.

 

Noctis leans forward, and this time, he tips the candle a little, lets some of the red-hot, crimson wax drip down the side. Prompto _hisses,_ his whole body jumping in response as it hits his skin, dripping down his chest and solidifying there, between the black, twisted lines of rope, marring his gorgeous pale skin with stripes of red.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto groans, and his chest arches forward as best as it can, with the restraints. “Noct, _fuck.”_

 

Prompto knows how to use his mouth, at least. Noctis really _had_ entertained the idea of gagging him, but he likes listening to his responses. It’s hot, the way Prompto gets all worked up and needy.

 

“You look fantastic like this, you know,” Noctis murmurs. He shifts closer, lips pressing into a spot on Prompto’s freckled shoulder, as he tips the candle again. The flame licks into Prompto’s body outright this time – a _surprised,_ incredibly undignified yelp following – and it’s chased by the hot drip of wax down over one taut, erect nipple.

 

“I _always_ look fantastic,” Prompto manages to grit out, though the words are a little labored. He’s panting, and his cock is twitching against his belly. Prompto really _is_ a painslut.

 

“Mmm,” Noctis agrees. He lifts up onto his knees, pressing into Prompto’s side as he drags his lips over Prompto’s jaw, breath hot and tickling against the skin as the candle still dances in front of the other daemon’s chest. The flames are dancing, orange, flickering light making the lines of crimson wax and the weaved, black patterns of rope and knots on Prompto’s chest stand out _so_ nicely.

 

“You look _perfect_ like this, though, Prom,” Noctis purrs. “Almost tempted to take the blindfold off and let you _see.”_

 

Prompto’s got an exhibitionist streak. He loves showing off, and it’s obvious, the way he trembles and makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat. “Fuck, Noct, I wanna see,” he agrees, a little breathless, even though he absolutely knows better. Noctis isn’t going to let him see. Not _this_ time.

 

Instead, Noct laughs, and works his lips wet down Prompto’s throat. He takes his time, tongue dragging heavily along the curve of rope that’s looped around his neck, following it down the center of his chest. Noct’s lips find Prompto’s neglected nipple, and he lazily gives it a tug with his teeth. Prompto shudders and groans, and then he _whines_ when there’s another tip of the candle, another hot stripe of wax making delicious, spiraled patterns over his quivering abdomen. The flames lick lazily, dangerously close to his navel as the wax drips and gathers in the lines of Prompto’s pelvis before they harden into smooth, delicious lines.

 

“Noct, I—”

 

Prompto tries to talk. He _tries,_ he really does, but Noct’s dripping more of the wax now, and it hits the base of his cock and he’s _gasping,_ and twitching, and writhing. There’s a moment, a split second, where Noctis thinks maybe this will be the _one_ time that Prompto actually taps out, that he sucks up his shitty incubus pride, and uses the damn safe word.

 

Outside, the rain intensifies, and there’s a little burst of wind, the windows rattling just a little.

 

Noctis lifts the candle again, and places it back on the table next to the bed. “Okay?” he asks, and he hopes that his voice doesn’t betray how fucking aroused _he_ is, because his cock is hard and dripping against his belly. He drags his eyes appreciatively down Prompto’s belly, admiring the trail of ink, the little dried pool of it right up against the base of Prompto’s jutting cock, and yeah, okay, Noctis is having _fun._

“Do it again,” Prompto hisses, and he tries to rock his hips forward, and Noctis can’t quite hold back the little burst of laughter. Of course. Prompto’s a fucking painslut. Noctis _knows_ this.

 

There’s a whole line of candles, and Noctis reaches for the next one, a thicker one, with a deep indent where the wick is burning down. The edges are curled in, hot and pliant, and this time, Noct drips a trail of the wax right down over one thigh. Prompto groans as it burns into his sensitive inner thigh, and he tries to writhe, but the spreader’s got his legs drawn tightly open. Noctis thinks, vaguely, about how he has _no_ idea if the wax will come off the rope, as some of it gathers against the raised edge of one, but whatever.

 

The next trickle of wax drips nicely down over Prompto’s pelvis, solidifying right before it hits the base of his cock, and he’s jerking, whining, a thick pearl of precome beading at the head.

 

“Fuck, Noct, _fuck,_ I want it,” Prompto whines, and Noct’s erection twitches its agreement.

 

Noctis leans in again, and he drapes himself over Prompto’s side. The additional weight nearly makes Prompto lose his balance and fall onto the bed, but Noct’s arm curls around, holding him up, steadying him. Fingers lazily stroke over Prompto’s hip, Noctis tracing over the maze of rope twists and knots and kneading at the jut of hipbone when his fingers drift over it.

 

His hand slides further around, and holds Prompto’s hip steady. This time, when Noctis tips the candle, it’s hovering right over Prompto’s erection. Prompto doesn’t anticipate it coming, either. He’s still blindfolded, and he’s so blissfully distracted by the stimulation, the feeling of Noct’s hand creeping over his hip, teasing him there, and the hot press of Noct’s cock into his other side as Noctis lazily grinds his hips and ruts into him.

 

Prompto _cries_ out when the hot stream of liquid wax drips down over the length of his cock. It slides down the side of his shaft, hardening there, as appealing as the thick vein that’s throbbing on the underside. “Fuck,” Prompto’s panting, and his head’s tossed back. The pain against such a _sensitive_ place has to be sheer torture, and as it solidifies over his heated flesh, it’s creating a new, tight feeling, one that Noctis knows is agonizing. “Noct. Fuck, _more.”_

Noct’s lips press into Prompto’s shoulder again, and his hand tips the candle again. A thick dribble of wax pours down over the length of his cock, dripping over balls that twitch and draw in tighter to Prompto’s body as he hisses and jerks his body. Noct’s not sure if Prompto’s trying to get _more_ or if he’s trying to get the fuck away from the sensation, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?

 

When Noct drips a bit of the hot wax _right_ over the engorged head of Prompto’s cock, he cries out _again._ The windows rattle violently, and Prompto’s hips jerk. Noctis takes that as encouragement, dribbles more of the red-hot wax right over the tip of Prompto’s cock, and fuck, suddenly he’s _coming,_ totally untouched except for the wax hardening in the ridge underneath the tip of his cock and dripping into his leaking slit. Prompto whimpers, thick white stripes of release dripping down onto the bed, sliding down his throbbing length and mixing with the swirled red ink hardened over him, as he slowly goes limp, his thighs shaking, leaning into Noctis as best as he can.

 

“Fuck, Noct, I—” Prompto tries to say, as he rides out the orgasm, his whole body trembling, hypersensitive and touch-starved.

 

Noctis reaches to set the candle aside, and when he leans in again, his fingers curl around Prompto’s cock, giving it a good, heavy stroke. Prompto gasps, and his hips _jerk,_ and he whines, overstimulated, all messy and covered in his own release and dried wax.

 

“You weren’t supposed to get off yet,” Noctis says, his voice matter-of-fact even as his lips trace over the shell of Prompto’s ear, pausing to nibble at the lobe. That had been… well, _unexpected,_ though not entirely unwelcome. “Should punish you for it.”

 

Prompto whines and his cock twitches, still half-hard, a little more wetness oozing from the tip. “Y-yeah?”

 

Noct’s fingers trace down the underside of Prompto’s cock, pausing to tug at his balls, to rub underneath where he’s all sensitive and needy. There’s a thought that maybe he should fuck him – and it’s appealing – but Prompto looks too nice, simply on _display,_ his for the touch. Noctis rocks his hips forward again, grinding the rough swell of his erection into Prompto’s hip, leaving a slick smear of precome over his skin, but his attention, primarily, is focused on the other daemon.

 

“I wanna see,” Prompto whimpers, when Noct’s fingers curl tight around his cock again, giving more of those long, teasing strokes. His fingers play at the base, stroking over extra-sensitive little spots where the wax dribbled down and burned in just a bit. Prompto’s still riding out the last waves of orgasm, still way too sensitive to be touched this way, so naturally, Noctis tightens his grip and jerks him base-to-tip, fingers playing over the slick tip, spreading around more of the mess.

 

“ _Noct,”_ the urgency in Prompto’s voice grows when Noctis focuses his attention on the swollen head of his cock. A thumb circles the engorged tip, stroking at a sensitive spot under the crown, fingers teasing the ridged edge, then feather-light, dance up over the slit again. He’s going insane, and behind his back, his fingers are flexing, his shoulders shifting to try and get free of the rope. He’s _tempted,_ Noctis knows, by the way Prompto’s whining and the way his body’s jerking and trembling, to simply break the binds.

 

It’s a bit of a game, honestly.

 

Noctis smirks, and he lazily releases Prompto’s cock, dips his hand down to tease his balls, feeling them tighten against his fingertips again. Prompto hisses and his hips jerk forward roughly. The motion has him off-balance, and he almost falls forward again, only held upright by Noctis at his side.

 

“You want me to take it off?” Noctis asks, with another smooth thrust of his cock up against Prompto’s hip.

 

Prompto looks torn. He’s biting his lower lip – a bad habit he’s _definitely_ picked up from Noctis, how mortal of them – and Noctis knows he doesn’t want to admit it. “Yeah,” he says finally, shuddering at the feeling of Noct’s erection sliding up over his skin, at the _thought_ of having a bit of freedom.

 

Noct’s lips trace over the spiral of a horn as he lazily works the blindfold off Prompto’s eyes. The other incubus shudders and blinks, adjusting again to the dim light dancing in the room. He tips his head, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and _moans_ at the image. Noctis laughs, and drapes the scarf lazily around Prompto’s neck, and he shudders again as the ends of the soft fabric slide down his chest, teasing already-hard nipples.

 

“Think you can stay tied,” Noctis says, lazily, and he reaches a hand down again, curls it around Prompto’s cock, and this time, he strokes him with good, satisfying strokes, base-to-tip, letting Prompto take in the full view of it.

 

Prompto always gets off on watching himself, and this is no exception. Noctis shifts so that he’s on his knees behind Prompto, the swell of his cock rutting into smooth curve of his lower back. His chin settles lazily on Prompto’s shoulder, and both arms wrap around him tight as they both watch Prompto’s image in the mirror. It’s dark, but they can see better in the dark than any human, and the dancing orange light somehow only _adds_ to the appeal.

 

The knots really are gorgeous, too. Now that Prompto’s eyes are open again, Noctis watches as they swirl with color, catching the light and damn well glowing. Noct can see the appeal too, the way Prompto’s eyes narrow with arousal as he does his best to jerk his hips forward. The rope’s a beautiful, elegant, intricate map of knots and twists and ties across his pale, heaving skin, and even though Noct’s cock is aching, even though he wants to press inside of Prompto and fuck him into oblivion, this is a _different_ kind of experience.

 

“You’re gonna watch yourself come,” Noctis raises himself up a little higher and whispers the words into Prompto’s ear from behind, as he starts to touch him again. Prompto shudders, and his hips rock, pressing into Noct’s hand as clever fingers work his cock.

 

Prompto’s lost in it after a few strokes. He always gets like this, damn near trance-like, when Noctis makes him watch. The fact that he’s all tied up, looking beautiful and _perfect,_ trapped in the netting of silky rope, only draws him in deeper. All Prompto can do is rock his hips a little, but he’s trapped, his thighs aching and spread wide, his fingers flexing and balled into fists behind. His tail’s twitching, and his horns are catching in Noct’s hair as his head lolls to the side, resting against the top of Noct’s.

 

When Prompto starts gasping, when his eyes go all lidded and heavy, and his cock starts leaking thick beads of precome at the tip, Noctis knows he’s _almost_ there. He holds him on the edge with a tight squeeze to the very base of his cock, with a few strokes that ease off the pressure, and then he works him again. It’s an alternating pattern, one that has Prompto’s thighs quivering, has him sagging limply and moaning greedily after a few strokes.

 

“Noct, I wanna be fucked,” Prompto whines, all needy, as Noctis ruts his own aching cock into Prompto’s hip. His fingers flex, like he’s trying to get his hands on Noctis, and his ass rocks back as best as he can.

 

Noctis shudders, and shifts his grip, rough, to Prompto’s hip, holds him there as the slick tip of his cock slides over Prompto’s hip, catches on a knot there, on the smooth ridged bump of rope, and it feels _good._ Fucking Prompto would be good, yeah, but more than this…

 

“No,” Noctis groans, and he simply holds Prompto there, upright, still tied and spread wide for him, and he humps into his hip, hips rolling forward until his motions become erratic and he comes, painting Prompto’s skin and the rope white with his release. Prompto whimpers and whines, and this time, when Noctis starts to stroke his cock again, as he comes down from his orgasm, he’s not quite so cruel.

 

Noct’s feeling lazy and sleepy, now that he’s made a mess all over Prompto’s hip and back, the mess dripping down the other daemon’s skin. Prompto’s still not there though. His cock’s so painfully hard it’s throbbing, the head swollen and shining wet. Even though he’d already gotten off once, he’s so _ready_ to go again, eyes all lidded, head tipped back nuzzling into Noctis as much as he can, greedy for more contact.

 

“C’mon, not fair, please, Noct, make me come,” Prompto whimpers, and so Noctis delivers.

 

Both arms curl around Prompto’s waist, holding him upright. One hand grips at his cock, pumping it, and the other dips down, rolling and squeezing his balls, fingers brushing over sensitive inner-thighs that still have bits of dried wax clinging to them. Prompto’s immediately keening, rocking into the touch as best as he can, all slick and messy.

 

Noct feels Prompto’s orgasm, the way one can see a wave swell in the ocean, a ripple-effect as it closes in. He can tell, with the way Prompto’s gone taut, with how his breath catches and the moans in his throat turn desperate and needy. He thumbs over the vein that runs heavy on the underside of Prompto’s erection, and there’s a responding twitch of hips. When he tugs Prompto’s balls, fondling the heavy, sensitive sacs, Noct’s pleased to earn a breathy cry.

 

“C’mon,” Noct’s voice is hot breath, lazy in Prompto’s ear, their tails languidly curling together as Prompto trembles and twitches. His finger digs into the slit, rubs teasingly, and that’s all the encouragement Prompto needs.

 

Prompto gasps, and Noct’s name is on his lips when he comes again, this time harder than before. He’s crying out when Noctis strokes him through his release, messy, sticky heat flooding over his fingers. There’s a snapping sound, as the ropes break, as Prompto’s arms flex and twist and then he’s grasping desperately at Noct’s thigh, steadying himself as he arches and bucks and rides out the orgasm. Outside, there’s a harsh clap of thunder and an electric _rush_ and then, suddenly, there’s silence.

 

Prompto’s sagging heavily back against Noctis, as Noctis draws them both back. He’s whining and panting and half-passed out as Noct gets his legs out of the spreader. The ropes are already snapped and unravelling as Noctis gets Prompto tucked down under the blankets. There’s red lines cut into Prompto’s skin from the tension and the press of the rope, and Noct’s easing away some of the pain, massaging into Prompto’s stiff limbs as he’s freed.

 

Prompto’s a mess of dried wax and sweat and come, and Noctis, for once, has the presence of mind to try to draw away so they can clean up. Prompto’s arms curl around his waist though, the second Noctis moves, and he tugs him back in.

 

“Stay,” Prompto mumbles, lips quirking up into a smile that’s soft, for once.

 

Noctis doesn’t move, but he’s smiling, pressing a kiss into the curve of a horn, satisfied by the way Prompto presses closer in response. “I was gonna clean up, idiot. You want any water?”

 

Prompto blinks, “Noctis, we’re incubi. We don’t drink water.”

 

“Well, obviously. Do you _want_ any?” Noctis sighs, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “I’m trying to take care of you, Prom. Just let me?”

 

Prompto makes a sleepy sound and snuggles closer. “Just stay then. Don’t wanna be alone.”

 

There’s something vulnerable, just for a moment, in Prompto’s voice, and Noctis simply nods. They’re a mess, but hell, that’s nothing new. So Noctis settles back against the bed, and when Prompto shifts to press his cheek into Noct’s chest, nuzzling in, he idly strokes through his hair. The room is darker, except for one remaining candle. The flame’s already flickered out on the others. Outside, it’s dark… pitch-black, actually, no city lights or streetlights shining through the window.

 

Noctis frowns. Actually, the house is dead quiet, too. The usual thrum of electricity is missing, and everything is calm, _quiet._

“Prom,” Noctis says, suddenly, “did you short-circuit the building?”

 

Prompto blinks sleepily, and has the grace to sound slightly embarrassed when he laughs. “… I think I might have uh, blacked out the entire city. Don’t get mad, Noct, it was _really_ good.”

 

_Well then._

 

“Huh,” Noctis says. That’s never happened before. Hundreds of years and they’re apparently still figuring this shit out. “Prom, there’s a safe word for a reason, you know…”

 

Prompto laughs in response, and he snuggles closer, pressing a line of lazy kisses into Noct’s chest, “Noctis, why the _hell_ would I want you to stop? That felt amazing.”

 

Noctis sighs and shakes his head. “Might be a good idea to think about someone other than yourself, y’know.”

 

Prompto yawns into Noct’s chest and tips his head and his hair tickles Noct’s skin, making him squirm, just a little. He’s warm and comfortable though, and ultimately, _happy._ “Now you’re just talking craziness,” Prompto retorts, lazily, and Noctis has to smile. After all, Prompto’s the center of his world, and that’s what matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual i'm on twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree. numi is @numinoceur on most social media. 8) follow her for [the art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/916902325179924480) see ya tomorrow, folks!


	8. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis gets Prompto a gift!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus chapter! this isn't day 8, this is pure light fluff and absolutely no kink. i will still be posting day 8 later tonight. 8) yes, i'm trying to get everyone else as attached to this AU as i am. is it working yet?!

“I got you a thing,” Noctis says, with a smile, when Prompto comes home. He’s waiting, sitting at the kitchen table, draped backwards over a chair.

 

Prompto’s eyes narrow, in response as he closes the door and stops, head tipping, to give Noctis a _look._

 

Noctis is pretty damn pleased with himself, if he’s being honest. Neither of them are entirely sure of the exact year they met. Things get kinda funny and blurry when you’ve been alive so long. The exact day? No fucking way. He remembers the season though, and it’d been a cold, rainy autumn day, the sky all dreary and the first hints of frost in the air. He remembers spending those first weeks curled up in bed next to Prompto when they’d left the window open and the cold had crept in and they’d woken up tangled together for extra warmth.

 

“A thing,” Prompto parrots back at Noctis, and he looks torn between excitement and wariness. Prompto, in a lot of ways, is like an excitable kitten. Restless and easily entertained, but also easily bored, with a short attention span and deadly claws, underneath the cute. It’s all part of why Noctis loves him.

 

And he really _does_ love him, goddamnit.

 

Over the years, Noctis has learned that mortals gift their partners with objects of affection on their anniversary. They’ve never really celebrated theirs in the traditional sense, but then again, two incubi coming together to share their lives with each other isn’t traditional at all. Noctis had asked Ignis once if it’s even _possible_ for incubi to get married and he’d rolled his eyes, tried to protest, thought better of it, and said ‘do what you want, Noctis.’

 

Of course, Noctis and Prompto haven’t done _that_ (yet) – but he’s been dwelling on the anniversary thing for a few years now.

 

He could’ve always gone and gotten Prompto some fancy new toy to play with. But Noctis wanted it to be meaningful. And then, _finally,_ he’d had the right idea.

 

“It’s in the bedroom. Come here,” Noctis, for once, is barely-contained excitement, grinning as he climbs out of the chair and offers a hand to Prompto.

 

“I swear, if this is another one of those times you tie me up for hours and _leave_ me, I’m gonna kill you, Noct…” Prompto threatens vaguely as Noctis leads him into the bedroom.

 

“It’s not, I promise,” Noctis says, grinning, stopping in the doorway.

 

On the bed, settled on a thick towel, there’s a tiny little baby malboro. It’s on its back, happily rolling and wriggling, playing with a squeaking stuffed bird toy. Its tentacles are writhing around and it’s making cooing, gurgling noises as it shoves the toy into its tiny little mouth, lined with sharp fangs.

 

“… is that a malboro?” Prompto blinks. “Noct, those are _rare.”_

 

“Yep,” Noctis agrees, with a grin. He’d considered the normal, mortal companions, but dogs and cats have such short lifespans, it doesn’t seem worth it. There’s always magical dogs, with extended lifespans, and he’s got a succubus friend with two, but… well, Prompto’s always had a weakness for tentacles and fangs.

 

Prompto sits down on the edge of the bed. It catches the creature’s attention and it rolls upright, straightens itself out onto its tentacle appendages, and slithers across the bed to Prompto. Noctis had been _very_ pleased that this particular breed of malboro doesn’t drool slime all the time.

 

“It’s a pygmy malboro,” Noctis says, watching, as the malboro climbs up over Prompto with clever tentacles, writhing and undulating as it moves, something like an octopus out of water. “It’ll stay small enough to keep inside.”

 

The malboro bites down on Prompto’s arm, sharp teeth gnashing into his skin. Prompto winces a little – more out of surprise than pain – and gently pries the creature off, ignoring the blood dripping down his arm. “No! Squishy, _no,_ we don’t bite!”

 

“Squishy?” Noctis questions, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting down behind Prompto, head resting on his shoulder, as he watches. “That his name?”

 

“Mhmmm. Cuz he’s got squishy little tentacles,” Prompto points back. The malboro shrank back some with the scolding, its tentacles folding in on itself. Its top limbs have bulging little eyes at the tips, and they’re swaying and adjusting, peeking out cautiously at Prompto, seemingly assessing the situation.

 

“Uh, apparently they’re easy to train,” Noctis points out, brushing his fingers over Prompto’s arm, smearing through the blood. It’s already healing, of course, the puncture wounds from the malboro’s sharp little fangs already smoothing over.

 

Prompto grins. “I like a challenge, anyway.”

 

He reaches out and plucks up the malboro, and this time it’s slightly more docile, though it makes a horrifying little shrieking noise as Prompto settles the creature in his lap. Its tentacles squirm and wriggle across his lap, and when Prompto lifts a hand to pet one, it curls a tentacle around his hand. Hell, the malboro’s making a noise that sounds oddly like _purring,_ too. It probably shouldn’t be cute, but Noctis has to admit, there’s a certain monstrous charm to the little thing.

 

“This is really for me?” Prompto asks, tipping his head to the side into Noct’s. Their horns knock together and they both sigh. There’s warmth spreading all through Noctis though, watching Prompto pet the little squirming malboro, running fingers over the writhing mess of tentacles. The creature’s purring and it rolls onto its back, its many eyes sliding shut.

 

“I mean,” Noctis replies, “if you want. I thought maybe it’d be an anniversary gift…”

 

Prompto blinks. “Shit. Is that a thing we’re doing now?! _Noct,_ I didn’t get you anything!”

 

Noctis feels like he should point out that _anniversary_ is a very domestic, mortal idea in the first place, but he doesn’t want to focus on that. Instead, he curls his arms tighter around Prompto and laughs as the malboro in his lap drifts off to sleep, happily chirping as Prompto pets the little wriggling tentacles.

 

“I just _wanted_ to,” he says, quietly, “I love you, you know.”

 

“You’re a sappy idiot, Noctis,” Prompto chides back, lazily, but he’s grinning ear-to-ear, and he nudges their cheeks together again. “You gotta lay off the human television, dude, soon we’re gonna end up celebrating birthdays and holidays, too.”

 

Birthdays is a whole other issue that Noctis ignores.

 

“Actually, speaking of holidays…” Noctis starts to say, but the malboro hisses its displeasure at their talking disturbing its sleep.

 

“You’re bugging Squishy,” Prompto points out, and Noctis simply shakes his head and falls silent. Prompto’s going to spoil the hell out of the dumb creature, he’s already quietly rambling on about collars and pet beds, and getting a fancy leash, and “d’you think the internet has malboro training videos?!” (it doesn’t) and a whole other slew of excited things.

 

Noct’s pleased. The gift was a success. And, of course it would be, because they’ve been together for a _long_ time, and hell, if there’s one thing in this universe Noctis knows – apart from the sex stuff, obviously – it’s Prompto. And Prompto really _is_ weak in the knees for tentacles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> numi and i were indulging in a few drinks last night and we got on the subject of noctis getting prompto a tiny pet malboro... and well. this happened. i think there was some drunk crying involved over how cute it is. we're cool.
> 
> twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree; numi is @numinoceur. come be ridiculous with us!
> 
> [have a bonus Prompto with Squishy, IT'S TOO CUTE!!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/917173833534136321)


	9. A Casual Date Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto decides he needs some piercings~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober Day 8!  
> We're mixing and matching prompts at this point tbh so today we did: piercing play, light bondage, a bit of public sex, and deep-throating :3

When Prompto gets an idea, Noctis has learned, it’s easiest to just let him _go_ with it.

 

It’s a nice, casual date day. They’re dressed for the autumn weather, in oversized sweaters and Noctis has a nice black scarf looped around his neck. They’re walking down the street, hand-in-hand, sipping on lattes, when Prompto stops outside of a tattoo parlor.

 

“Noct,” he says, tipping his head to the side, and Noctis _knows_ an idea is coming. It’s probably a bad idea. Scratch that: It’s probably a _terrible_ idea. Most of Prompto’s ideas are. Of course, they always end up following through with them anyway.

 

“We’re not getting matching tattoos,” Noctis replies, instantly. Mortal tattoos don’t last super long on them, just a normal human lifespan, generally – sometimes less – before the ink rejects, but Noctis doesn’t really feel like staring at an ugly impulse tattoo for a while. He’s been there, done that. Bad idea.

 

“Who says I wanna match with _your_ ugly ass?” Prompto grumbles, teasing, as he nudges their hips together. It jostles Noct’s arm and he _groans_ as hot latte spills over his fingers. Damnit, that’s a waste of a perfectly good drink.

 

“I want new piercings,” Prompto continues on, and Noctis falls silent. Okay. So, it’s maybe not _that_ bad of an idea. They’re incubi, so piercings heal almost instantly for them. They’re not permanent, either. Prompto’s had his share of piercings over the years, too. Inevitably, one of them accidentally rips one out during sex, or Prompto doesn’t switch the studs out fast enough and they heal over – downside of the fast healing – or he just gets bored with them and takes them out.

 

The dick piercing those few times had been nice, yeah, but it made sex kinda inconvenient, they’d both agreed on _that._ And then, of course, there was the time Prompto had gotten a jacob’s ladder and Prompto and—yeah. No more dick piercings.

 

Prompto’s been rocking the piercing-less look for a while now, and it’s no surprise at all to Noct that he’s getting antsy for metal again. Of course, he’d been expecting a more casual date but, well, it’s not like Prompto’s a stranger to getting pierced…

 

“What you gonna get this time?” Noctis asks.

 

Prompto’s already tugged out his phone – bless mortals, for this particular invention – and he’s looking up reviews for said tattoo parlor they’re in front of. Hey, he’s been around the block a few times. And yeah, piercings heal over almost instantly for him, and there’s no real threat of catching gross diseases, but he’s not suffering through misaligned or crooked piercings _ever_ again.

 

“This place isn’t that great,” he sighs, after a moment’s silence, and Noctis rolls his eyes, because he knows the _but_ is coming. Prompto looks up, and grins, “but there’s a place not too far that is really good! C’mon, Noct, I bet they can _totally_ squeeze me in!”

 

And that’s how their nice little afternoon date turns into Noctis tagging along so that Prompto can poke more holes in his body. Again.

 

\---

 

The piercer looks a little weirded out when Prompto shows up with a _list._ Prompto’s very clearly unpierced and innocent looking - the horns are hidden – and he’s all bright eyes and smiles as he goes through it.

 

“You sure you want to do all of this at once?” the guy asks, skeptically, and Prompto just grins wider. He’s chatting casually to Noctis through the whole affair, though he at least remembers to wince once or twice – entirely for effect – when the guy _really_ starts to give him looks. There’s a nice line of studs in his ears, and a stud in his tongue, and Prompto sticks his tongue out lazily at Noctis, showing off.

 

“I’ve done this before,” Prompto explains, to the incredulous piercer, and then he immediately follows it up with, “shit, I should do my nipples too, huh, Noct? Oh, and remember that time I had those cute ones on my hips?”

 

Noctis swears the quiet little whimper Prompto makes when the needle slides through one peaked nipple is _arousal_ more than pain. Stupid Prompto and his stupid affinity for piercings. Noct’s glad that he’s seated on a little bench off to the side, cushioned, with a pillow sitting neatly in his lap, cuz there’s something very appealing about watching his boyfriend get poked by needles. Prompto, of course, looks normal as always, though there’s a distinct flush to his cheeks as he works his pants down his hips to expose the line of hip. The surface piercings are always tricky – they tend to reject half the time, because they heal way too fast – but the needle works its magic and Prompto’s grinning as he looks down to admire the work.

 

“Not bad,” he tells Noctis. “So, I’m totally gonna get my dick done too, right? It looked _good_ last time.”

 

“No,” Noctis says, instantly, sitting up more attentively, “fuck, Prompto, _nope,_ not after last time.”

 

Prompto pouts, but he sighs and tugs his pants back up his hips, only wincing a little as the band of his jeans rubs over the fresh, rapidly healing piercings. “C’mon, Noct. You _liked_ how it looked.”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, “I liked how it _looked._ You remember what happened when I _touched?”_

 

Prompto sighs, but he shakes his head, and Noctis _totally_ doesn’t miss the tiniest little shudder. Yeah, Prompto absolutely remembers what happened last time. Kinda hard to forget.

 

They make it two blocks away before Noctis tugs Prompto into an alleyway and gets him shoved up against the rough wall. With the way Prompto laughs and grins and immediately rocks his hips forward to meet Noct’s, Noctis knows damn well that his stupid boyfriend was expecting this. It’s the goddamn piercings. It’s _always_ the goddamn piercings.

 

“They’re healed already, y’know,” Prompto teases, as Noctis throws all his weight into getting his back scraped up against the side of the building. He tips his head to the side, showing off the nice line of studs on his ears, half-hidden behind the curve of horn, and Noctis _groans._

 

“Why the fuck do you look so nice with piercings? It isn’t even fucking fair,” Noctis hisses, going in for a rough kiss, all scraping teeth and rough surge of tongue. Prompto gasps into the kiss, his hips arch forward, and he’s already hard in his pants, the outline of his cock visible and throbbing.

 

Prompto laughs again when they part, though it’s more breathless this time.

 

“Dunno. Probably cuz I’m an immortal sex god,” Prompto teases. Noctis, in response, roughly grabs both of his wrists with one strong hand and pins them hard against the brick over his head.

 

“You’re a daemon, not a _god._ Get it right, idiot, or you’ll start attracting enemies,” Noctis hisses. His free hand’s unraveling the scarf around his neck, and he loops it up Prompto’s arms, wrapping it securely around his wrists, pinning them together scrabbling against the rough wall.

 

Prompto _whines._ “Goddamnit, Noctis, again with the fucking bondage?!”

 

In response, Noctis presses a knee between Prompto’s thigh, grinds rough against his cock, and goes in for another kiss. The scrape of Prompto’s shiny new tongue stud against his own tongue is _good,_ the metal heated and smooth as it rubs over the roof of his mouth, teases the tip of his tongue, and _fuck._ Noctis wants more.

 

He starts off slow, teasing, as he always does, tracing his lips over the curve of Prompto’s jaw, nipping at sensitive places and tracing freckles. He nips at the lobe of Prompto’s ear, and drags his tongue lazily over the fresh line of studs running up his ear. Prompto _whines._ He’s already sensitive, and the new piercings are in that delicious, freshly healed stage where he’s hyperstimulated, where everything is intensified and tingling. Prompto’s tipping his head to the side, giving Noctis more room, and the way Noct’s licking, teeth gently tugging, it’s healing the final bits of ache – incubi can, quite literally, lick their wounds, after all – and it’s all twisting from that delicious pleasure-pain to just an amazing, intensely good _ache._

 

“Noctis, fuck,” Prompto shudders, when Noct’s hands tug his sweater up. Noctis is slow and lazy, taking his time. He pointedly ignores the fresh new studs on Prompto’s hips, instead skirting up over his fluttering abdomen, tracing over toned muscle, the curve of his ribs, up over his chest. Prompto’s rocking his hips forward, all fucking impatience as usual, tugging half-heartedly at the scarf that isn’t _really_ holding his hands bound, and they both know what’s coming.

 

“Found something,” Noctis teases, tugging at one freshly pierced nipple, and Prompto _whines._ He pinches and rolls the erect bud, pleased when Prompto gasps and rocks harder against him. Noctis remembers _this_ part of the whole piercing thing, and he remembers just how goddamn fun it was last time Prompto pierced his nipples.

 

“Noctis, _not fair,”_ Prompto groans. It becomes even _more_ unfair when Noctis hikes his sweater up higher, fully exposing his chest to the world – not that anyone’s paying them attention as they pass by the open mouth of the alleyway – and dips his head down, teeth tugging at one piercing. He laps his tongue wet and hot, and his fingers roll and tease the other one, and Prompto’s reduced to a writhing mess.

 

“Remember that time I got you off just from playing with these?” Noctis asks, all hot breath against Prompto’s skin, as he raises his eyes to meet Prompto’s. The other daemon’s eyes are intense and focused, though there’s a sheen of arousal already washing over him.

 

“Noct, you better not be fucking teasing again,” Prompto whines, and _yeah,_ Noctis thinks, he fucking does remember. He’d tugged at his nipples and messed with the piercings until Prompto had made a fucking mess in his pants, untouched. Hell, Noctis had been about two minutes away from coming then too, just from watching.

 

There’s the urge to do it again, really, but Noct’s more interested in working down. He lowers to his knees in front of Prompto, smirks up at his boyfriend, and presses wet, open-mouthed kisses all the way down, instead.

 

Noctis knows he looks damn good between Prompto’s thighs. They’re relatively interchangeable, all things considered, even though Noct’s usually the one taking on the dominant role. He’s definitely not opposed to being the one down here though, worshipping Prompto with his mouth and his tongue. There’s another little jolt of relief – Noct’s _really_ glad Prompto didn’t pierce his cock again – and he chases the sensation with a wet drag of tongue right down the middle of Prompto’s belly. His tongue dips into his navel, making Prompto’s hips jerk and a little bubble of laughter ebb up, then Noct’s swiping a wet line over to one hip.

 

Prompto’s the _most_ sensitive here. It rivals playing with his horns, really, and as soon as Noct’s lips close around one of the fresh piercings, lapping at the newly healed flesh, Prompto’s whining. Noctis can feel his body straining and arching against him, and he can tell he’s tugging his arms, debating breaking free to stroke fingers through Noct’s hair.

 

“Don’t struggle, or I’ll stop,” Noctis mumbles, against wet skin, as he switches tactics, moves from the wet suckling to light, fluttering little presses of his lips, soft kisses working in circles around each fresh piercing. Prompto gasps, all over-sensitive and needy, but he _listens,_ going a little slack against the wall.

 

Prompto was already fully hard before Noctis started teasing him. By the time he switches, finishes tracing the line of piercings with his tongue, works back down, and across to the opposite hip, there’s a distinct wet spot on Prompto’s pants, where the head of his erection is pressing and leaking. Noct’s fingers swirl lazily right over the head of Prompto’s cock, right as he begins lavishing attention to the opposite line of piercings, and it’s probably a miracle that it doesn’t make Prompto lose himself right there.

 

“Fuck, Noctis, _fuck me,”_ Prompto whines. Noct’s fingers pause, just for a moment, and then he lazily works Prompto’s pants down, his cock springing free and nudging into the side of Noct’s face as he teases the piercings. His hair tickles as it brushes over his precome-slick cock, and Prompto’s torn between giggling and laughing. It makes Noctis smile, pausing his kissing and licking and teasing, to nuzzle affectionately into his boyfriend’s hip, before he begins his torture again.

 

Prompto’s a mess, shuddering and quivering as Noctis finally drags his tongue over his cock, base-to-tip. His pants are bunched down around his thighs, trapping him, but Prompto whines and spreads his legs further, giving him better access. Noctis had _intended_ to fuck Prompto up against the wall, but he’s suddenly got a better idea here.

 

His hands grip at Prompto’s hips, thumbing over the piercings, and Noctis goes down, bobbing down on Prompto’s cock. His tongue slides hot and heavy along the underside as he goes down, his lips spread around the width of him. Prompto moans, when Noctis goes halfway, drags back up to lick at the weeping tip, then goes down _again._ This time, Noctis takes him all the way in. His lips work around the base of Prompto’s cock, the head hitting the back of his throat, balls slapping into his chin. Noctis hums appreciatively, draws back to the tip, and then slides down again.

 

Noct doesn’t give head as much as Prompto does. Even though they’re incubi, there’s definitely an art to it. By nature they’re good at _anything_ sexual. Noctis doesn’t think he _quite_ has Prompto’s finesse, but he’s still damn good at it. He remembers to breathe roughly through his nose – they don’t need to breathe, but it’s instinct – as he buries Prompto’s cock down his throat. He’s humming a little, putting delicious vibration over Prompto’s sensitive, aching cock with every motion, and his tongue’s swirling and swiping and laving over ridges and veins.

 

Prompto gasps and he’s rocking his hips forward, slamming his cock into Noct’s mouth. It’s messy and wet, but they _both_ like it that way. All he can do is stare, at how Noct’s eyes are watering just a little, at the thick strands of saliva and precome pooling at the corner of his mouth and running down his chin. The sound is lewd, and really fucking good, and Noctis is bobbing hard and fast on his cock, fingers tugging and teasing and outright _torturing_ the fresh piercings on his hips.

 

Noctis hears the rip of fabric. He doesn’t see it – he’s too busy taking Prompto’s erection down his throat and working him off with a slightly-aching jaw – but he knows that the scarf’s been ripped. A millisecond later, and Prompto’s hands are both fisting in his hair, tugging roughly. The extra momentum has Prompto fucking into Noct’s throat fast and brutal, and if Noctis wasn’t an incubus, he’d probably be choking, maybe even panicking, about ready to black out. He can’t breathe, he can’t see, his eyes all thick with unshed tears, his fingers gripping rough at Prompto’s hips as he tries to steady himself through the brutal face-fucking.

 

Prompto’s hips jerk, and he _slams_ forward, burying his cock half down Noct’s throat when he comes. Noctis damn near chokes on it, incubus or not, but he swallows messily, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but accept Prompto’s release, hot and thick as it spurts down his throat. His fingers are still massaging over those goddamn piercings, rubbing and plucking until Prompto’s cock starts to soften, until he’s finally spent, gasping and whimpering and leaning back against the wall.

 

Noct’s face is a mess as he draws back, Prompto’s cock popping from his mouth with a wet noise. He’s covered in precome and saliva, his hair’s messy from being tugged and pulled in every direction. His eyes are red-rimmed and teary, and he can’t quite catch his breath. His heart’s tripping in his chest. His jaw aches too, though just a little. His tongue feels raw and worn, and really, Noctis feels fucking _perfect._

“Good?” he asks, with a quiet laugh.

 

Prompto’s half-collapsed against the wall, and he finally swats Noct’s hands away, the teasing over his piercings too fucking much to take. “Fuck, you _know_ it was, you asshole. Tried to tie my hands!” Prompto’s hands are still running lazily through Noct’s hair though, and it feels good.

 

“… sorry about the scarf, though,” Prompto adds, with a bit of a rueful laugh. “But you weren’t pulling that shit on me _again,_ Noct.”

 

“You’re buying me a new scarf,” Noctis replies, tipping his head and pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss right over Prompto’s hip, making him squirm and whine. It’s totally a bit of payback. “And next time I’m not gonna let you come.”

 

Prompto aims a playful kick in Noct’s direction, and they both laugh. The piercings really _are_ nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree. Numi is @numinoceur, follow her for [the spicy companion art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/917267090909696000)


	10. Giving Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto surprises Noctis with a horribly domestic show of affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober day 9: food play & rough sex.  
> ... it's not really either of the two. I've given up on following the prompts, let's be honest. But today was Canadian thanksgiving, and I'm a Canadian gal living in California, so I was feeling homesick. So, the boys celebrated for me :)

For all that Prompto likes to make fun of Noctis, he’s well on his way to being as completely, utterly domestic. It just… _happens._ Being around humans so much means it’s a bit inevitable that they end up picking up some bad habits here and there. Maybe if Prompto had stayed wilder, half-feral, treating his victims solely as prey, this wouldn’t have happened. But then _Noctis_ had stepped into his life, and had started preaching the benefits of keeping the idiots alive, and now here they are.

 

Noctis is sleeping, and it’s one of those death sleeps, the ones where even Prompto can’t wake him. Maybe that’s Prompto’s fault. Maybe he’d overindulged a little and okay, nobody had died this time – it’s an improvement! – but he’d jumped Noctis the second he’d gotten back home, and they’d gone at it intensely for… well. A while. Noct’s been sleeping, contentedly, for the past twelve hours, and even Prompto grinding up on him earlier hadn’t roused him.

 

It works out though. Prompto’s sated, for once, fully content, none of that restless itch bothering him. He’d been _bored,_ of course, so he’d started flipping through the channels, and that’s how he’d realized it’s some dumb mortal holiday, one involving lots of food.

 

Noctis is a _sucker_ for this mortal shit. He’s the one who had started this whole ‘anniversary’ thing. And now Prompto has Squishy (who contentedly napped in his lap during this whole thing) and he’s been looking for ways to pay Noctis back, to return the favour. So Prompto made the very excellent decision that this is how he’s gonna do it.

 

Bless the internet, because a few quick searches later, and Prompto’s got a list of things to buy. He even makes it the store without seducing anyone. Noctis _totally_ got Squishy this little harness that says ‘emotional support animal’ on it, and Prompto can glamor the little guy up to look like one of those boring mortal pets in public, so Squishy tags along too, wobbling along next to Prompto on his writhing little tentacles.

 

Prompto even gets through his shopping list without any effort. There’s a really cute girl at the deli eyeing his piercings, and he offers her a smile, but for once, there’s no real desire to get her out back and pressed up against a wall. Goddamn Noctis. Maybe Prompto really _will_ mellow out, one of these days.

 

Prompto even stops for a nice coffee on his way home with his bag of goodies. It’s gonna be a good day.

 

\---

 

Of course, looking up “how to prepare a Thanksgiving dinner” and the reality of it is… well, somewhat more challenging. Prompto’s not the best cook. He got to skip most of the vegetable side dishes, anyway, cuz he knows Noctis isn’t gonna eat them. Neither of them _need_ to eat human food, of course. Noct’s just developed a taste for the junky stuff.

 

The turkey is pre-cooked, at least, and Prompto only has to throw it into the oven for an hour to warm it up. Still, there’s a lot of _parts_ to this. A lot of timing, too. He’s got to cut the potatoes, get them cooked, chop up the bread and season it and make the stuffing, get the rolls going, start the cranberry sauce—

 

Yeah, it’s a lot.

 

The turkey’s ready to go in the oven, at least. Prompto turns around to check on one thing, and when he turns back around, Squishy’s on the goddamn counter trying to curl his tentacles around the turkey and sneak off with it, and Prompto _groans._

“Squishy! Get the hell away!” Prompto swats at the malboro with a kitchen towel. Squishy _hisses,_ and tries to jump off the counter, his tentacles tangling and flailing midair, and he lands flat on his giant, fanged mouth, faceplanting into the floor before picking himself up and scurrying to hide under the kitchen table, waiting. Goddamnit.

 

“You’re worse than a damn cat!” Prompto groans. Of course, he’s breaking off a little piece of bread and tossing it, and a tentacle snaps out to grab the snack and shove it into the monster’s fanged mouth. He’s _totally_ spoiling the malboro again. Noct’s right; they’re going to end up with a fat pet.

 

Somehow, Prompto manages to avoid burning the place down. Not that the flames would harm either of them _that_ much, but he’s grown… well, kind of attached to their little dwelling. Don’t make him admit that, though. The potatoes cook, and the cranberry sauce simmers and bubbles, and the bread is rising. Prompto even roasts some carrots – he knows damn well that Noctis doesn’t like any mortal food that’s probably deemed ‘healthy’, but carrots are probably the least offensive vegetable. And, okay, the recipe is called ‘candied carrots’ with sugar and honey and cinnamon, so they’re probably pretty unhealthy, too.

 

Squishy’s hanging off Prompto’s hip as he gets the turkey out of the oven. Prompto grumbles – “you weigh so damn much!” – but then he offers scraps of turkey to the little malboro as he pokes at it with a fork to make sure it’s all heated through. It’s precooked _anyway,_ so it’s not like he can fuck things up…

 

In all, Prompto’s actually pretty damn proud of himself. He got stupid custom themed napkins, too, with all pretty autumn-covered leaves on them. Squishy crawls from his hip to wiggle across the table as Prompto sets it, and he tries to make off with a fork – the damn creature _loves_ hoarding little bits of treasure in weird places, once Prompto found him cuddling one of their damn buttplugs under the couch – only for Prompto to swat at him again and chase him off the table. Stupid little creature.

 

Prompto surveys his work, oddly pleased with himself for once. Okay, so the kitchen’s a disaster. He’s used practically every damn dish that they _own._ He’s the one who’s always whining to Noct that there’s no need to have a fully stocked kitchen because Noctis just eats mortal junk food and it’s not like Prompto does any real cooking – he just has a horrible sweet tooth – but, well. It’s worked out for the better.

 

Of course, there’s pie too, and that’s really the part Prompto’s _most_ excited about.

 

And hell, Prompto has _perfect_ timing, too, because even as he stands in his damn disaster, cranberry sauce spattered messily over his shirt, Squishy attempting to squirm and crawl his way up the counter again to get at the turkey, Noctis appears sleepily in the doorway, blinking and running a hand through his hair.

 

“Prompto, the hell?”

 

Prompto grins brightly at his sleepy boyfriend. “Surprise! Happy Thanksgiving, Noct.”

 

Noctis looks confused, “…. You hate this stuff.”

 

Prompto laughs. Yeah, he does. But Noct’s silly little weakness for all things mortal is slowly growing on him. Prompto won’t admit that he’s getting soft, no way in hell, but he _loves_ Noctis, and that much is obvious. “Yeah, I do. But _you_ like it.”

 

The quiet smile Noctis offers has Prompto’s heart thumping, a slow-building warmth spreading all through him, and yeah, it’s totally worth it. He makes Noctis smile a lot, but this one is the type of smile that goes right through him, that has his eyes shining bright and vivid amber, swirling with emotion. Goddamn, it’s not even fair how gorgeous Noctis is.

 

“… thanks, Prom. You did this all yourself?”

 

Prompto saunters over to where Noct’s leaning in the doorway, and curls his arms around his waist. He leans in to steal a kiss, all sugary-sweet mischief, nipping at Noct’s lower lip and tongue delving into his mouth.

 

“Well, I cheated a bit with the turkey,” Prompto admits, as he draws back, laughing, “but everything else I totally did on my own. I… wanted to do something for you, Noctis.” Prompto leaves out the part where it’s always Noct doing things for _him._ He leaves out the part about how meaningless and empty his existence had been, how he’d always been _starving,_ desperate, how his mood was bitter and stormy and he couldn’t find stability, and now he has _Noctis_ and things fell into place. He doesn’t need to say it.

 

“You’re the best,” Noctis simply replies, curling an arm around Prompto’s waist. “… though speaking of the turkey, Squish is about to make off with it.”

 

Prompto _groans_ and pulls away and launches himself across the kitchen, arms flailing, as the malboro twines his tentacles around the half-carved turkey, trying to drag it down from the counter.  


“Goddamnit Squishy!”

 

The malboro flails in its panic and falls off the counter with a horrible squelching noise. It shrieks, and it’s a damn miracle the turkey didn’t go down with it, because the plate is half-hanging off the edge of the counter. Prompto pushes the plate back into safety, and shakes his fist at the hissing malboro as Squishy retreats into the shadows. They all know, of course, that the second they sit down to eat, Squishy will be begging for food, and Prompto will be feeding him.

 

Hell, Prompto’s probably just going to plate him up his own dinner. He’s part of the family too.

 

“You know it’s your fault he’s like this, right?” Noctis teases, watching the scene.

 

“ _You’re_ the one who got him for me,” Prompto reminds him with a grin. He knows damn well that as much as Noctis declares war on Squishy, he secretly appreciates him. Or, well, he tells himself that. Maybe Noct doesn’t appreciate the way Squishy sleeps on his chest, or leaves slime trails on his pillow, or chews on his shoes, or follows him into the shower…

 

Okay. So maybe Squishy is a bit of a monster sometimes. He’s a loveable one, right?

 

And, of course, when they actually sit down to eat, Prompto _totally_ plates up some food for Squishy. He tries to set him up at the table, too, but Noctis puts his foot down – “he’ll climb across the table, Prompto!” – and well, maybe Noctis has a point. He gets Squishy curled up on his favourite pillow though, and watches happily as the malboro scoops food into his fanged mouth with a stubby little tentacle.

 

“This is really good,” Noctis remarks, as they eat. Prompto has to agree, actually. He’s not as fond of the whole mortal food thing as Noctis is – he’d much rather overindulge on _real_ food – but it’s pretty damn good. Honestly, Prompto’s impressed. He should try this again at Christmas or something. Hell, Noct’s even poking at the carrots some.

 

“ ‘Course it’s good. _Everything_ I do is good, Noct,” Prompto points out, with a lazy smile, one that borders more on a smirk. He’s poking his food around on his plate, and, lazily, Prompto flicks a spoonful of cranberry sauce at Noct’s face, and he snickers when it splatters over his cheek.

 

“We are _not_ getting in a food fight,” Noctis grumbles, but of course, he’s already eyeing Prompto greedily as he swipes at his cheek, wiping away the sauce and licking it off his fingers. He’s _totally_ doing it on purpose too, making a show of swirling his tongue around each digit slowly and thoroughly. Prompto _whines_ and shifts in his seat. Okay, so he’s gone utterly, horribly domestic, yes, but he’s still an _incubus_ and Noctis is being a jerk.

 

“Y’know,” Prompto says, pushing his plate away, leaning forward in his seat a little to trail his toe up over Noct’s shin, slow and lazily working his way up, “there’s pie. And whipped cream.”

 

“Yeah?” Noctis replies, all casual, but Prompto catches the way his voice hitches, and the way his eyes shift, intensifying ever-so-slightly. “Pie sounds good right now.”

 

“I did the cooking, so you gotta clear the plates,” Prompto replies, with a smirk, and for once, Noctis doesn’t complain, even though he’s _easily_ the lazier of the two of them. He gets the table cleared off, and… well.

 

Maybe the biggest clue to Prompto that he really _is_ getting soft is the fact that, somehow, Noctis cleaning off the damn kitchen table and getting the dishes piled into the sink is the _hottest_ thing Prompto’s ever seen. Goddamnit, Noctis is even wearing a comfy sweater and he rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, showing off the delicious curve of forearm and Prompto is pretty sure he’s descended to incubus house-husband status, but right about now? It’s pretty damn hard to care.

 

Prompto slides out of his chair, and his arms are around Noctis, his face pressed into his Noct’s shoulder, before he even really realizes he’s doing it. Noctis sighs, and leans back, and Prompto can’t help but _groan_ at the delicious slide of friction. He shouldn’t already be half-hard, but damnit, he’s always some vague level of arousal, and Noctis just has a way of getting him going, _instantly._

 

“Impatient,” Noctis teases, and he’s totally being a jerk, the way he rocks his hips back into Prompto, pressing the smooth curve of his stupid, perfect ass right up against Prompto’s half-hard cock. “We haven’t even had the pie yet, Prom.”

 

“Fuck the pie,” Prompto responds, but damnit, he knows Noctis has an even bigger sweet tooth than he does, and they’re absolutely not going to fuck until they’ve had the pie.

 

Prompto’s got an idea, though.

 

He lets go of Noct’s waist – with a final rock of his hips forward – and reaches over his shoulder to grab the can of whipped cream. Noctis doesn’t say anything, but he’s _totally_ watching as Prompto makes a show of arching his back and sighing happily as he sprays a bit of the whipped cream into his mouth, sticking out a cream-covered tongue in Noct’s direction. Noctis absolutely hesitates.

 

“That’s not fair, Prom,” Noctis sighs, but when Prompto leans forward to spray a bit of the whipped cream across Noct’s cheek, Noctis responds by swiping his finger through the top of the pumpkin pie, and flicking in his direction. Prompto _laughs,_ as the thick pie topping hits him in the face, and that’s _it,_ the game’s on.

 

There’s a bit of frantic motion. Noct’s fast, but Prompto’s faster, he’s _always_ faster, and this time, Noctis ends up pinned between Prompto’s body and the kitchen counter. Prompto smirks, impossibly pleased with himself, as he leans forward to lick a bit of the pie of Noct’s cheek. Noct groans and pivots his hips forward, and there’s more of that hot friction between them. So unfair.

 

“Totally fair,” Prompto retorts, reaching for the whipped cream again. He sprays a glob of it over Noct’s cheeks, laughing when it gets in his hair and over his horns. “Not my fault you’re old and slow, Noctis.”

 

“Old?” Noctis rolls his eyes and reaches for the whipped cream – but Prompto’s faster, holding it just out of reach. Prompto leans in, tongue playfully dragging over Noct’s cheek, lapping away some of the sugary, sweet mess. “You’re just as old as I am.”

 

“Arguable,” Prompto points out lazily. He nips at Noct’s jaw – they both sigh, in response – and draws back to admire the mess. Noctis looks _good_ covered in sticky white, Prompto’s gotta admit. It’s definitely a look Noctis should rock more often. “Told ya. Don’t remember how long I’ve been around.”

 

Noctis has assured Prompto that’s normal, that he really only has a vague idea of it himself, at this point. Prompto’s pretty sure Noctis just tells him that to make him feel better, but _whatever._ It’s hard to be upset about any of that when the other daemon is looking very appealing, and they’ve got pie and whipped cream.

 

Noctis opens his mouth to speak, and Prompto swoops in again, laughing evilly as he sprays some of the cream right into Noct’s mouth. Noctis sputters and laughs and some of the cream oozes from the corner of his mouth. Prompto leans in to lick it away, and Noct’s arms curl around his waist, and suddenly they’re kissing, both of them tasting sweet and spreading the mess between them.

 

“Don’t think this is how you’re supposed to eat pie,” Noctis points out with a laugh, as they part. Prompto, in response, pulls Noct’s shirt right off over his head, and once it’s tossed aside – and Squishy eagerly scurries over to drag it off and nest in it, because he likes stealing Noct’s things – Prompto reaches for the pie.

 

Noctis totally sees it coming, as Prompto makes a _total_ mess reaching right into the pie and gathering up a handful of it. Noct isn’t stopping anything though, and he’s laughing as Prompto smears a big mess of pumpkin and flaky crust right across his chest, finishing the mess up with two big dabs of whipped cream right over his nipples.

 

“This is the _best_ way to eat pie,” Prompto points out, as he ducks his head down, dragging his tongue through the mess. It’s overly sweet, and it tastes _fantastic,_ and he gets the added reward of feeling Noct’s skin under his tongue as he laps the mess of pie away. Noctis isn’t complaining, a hand tangling in Prompto’s hair. Prompto drags his still-freshly-pierced-tongue over a nipple, and the stimulation has Noctis reduced to putty before him, moaning as he teases his tongue stud over the sensitive flesh, lips closing around it as he sucks and licks the rest of the mess away.

 

“This was your plan all along,” Noctis teases, when Prompto lifts him up and gets him seated right on the fucking kitchen counter. One of Noct’s hands grasps for purchase on the counter, but he’s distracted by Prompto’s lips, now teasing the other nipple, and Prompto outright bursts into laughter when Noct’s hand lands smack-dab in the middle of the half-destroyed pie.

 

“Hey, I worked _hard_ on buying that pie from the grocery store!” Prompto grumbles, lifting his head away, and Noct’s responds by swiping his now-messy fingers right over Prompto’s cheek. They’re both laughing and shoving at each other, but Prompto dives back in, tongue tracing a hot line down Noct’s stomach, licking and kissing and teasing his way down, and he’s _very_ pleased with how Noct’s responding. The other daemon’s watching him with narrowed eyes, but he’s not fighting for dominance here, for once, simply sitting back and letting Prompto have his moment.

  
There’s a tiny part of Prompto that wants Noct to fight him for it, so he can _win._ But there’s another part that’s simply enjoying the slow torture of his lips working along Noct’s belly, tracing the waist of his pants as his fingers – still sticky and covered in remnants of cream and pie – work at the zipper. Noct’s hips lift off the counter, his sticky hand pressed into Prompto’s shoulder for balance, leaving a mess of pie all over him, as Prompto works his pants and boxers down his hips in one quick motion.

 

“You’re _enjoying_ this,” Prompto points out, amused, as Noct’s cock springs free from his pants. He’s fully hard, and Prompto’s eyes flash in satisfaction as he reaches for the whipped cream again. Noctis totally knows it’s coming, and he’s shaking his head and _laughing,_ but the laugh quickly dies on his lips at the feeling of the spray of cream over the tip of his cock. Prompto’s lips quirk and his tongue darts out as he adorns a thick line of cream down the side of Noct’s length and over his balls and down over one of his inner thighs. The cream’s getting everywhere, spraying over the countertop, but Prompto doesn’t care.

 

“Well yeah, you’re about to touch my cock,” Noctis shoots back, and Prompto rolls his eyes, but he’s ducking down, balancing his weight on his heels as he drags his tongue heavy up the side of Noct’s cock, lapping away the whipped cream and enjoying the hell out of how Noctis moans and rocks into the touch.

 

Noctis gets a good upward thrust of his hips in, messily smearing some of the cream over Prompto’s cheek, before Prompto’s gripping his hips _hard,_ pinning Noctis down onto the counter. Noctis hisses in surprise, but Prompto’s hold is rough, and he simply digs his fingers in harder as he drags his tongue down Noct’s erection again, tongue swirling, the stud digging into a sensitive spot on the underside.

 

“Shut up, I’m eating dessert,” Prompto teases, his voice lilting, when Noctis struggles a little and tries to lift into the touch. Noctis is usually the one torturing the hell out of Prompto, after all. Prompto’s too impatient to return the favour, honestly, but he’s still taking his time. He cleans the whipped cream away, slow swipes of tongue up the side of Noct’s cock, paying special attention to the tip, then dipping back down. Noct’s fully hard and twitching, his cock heavy, the salty-musky taste of precome mixing with the sweetness of the whipped cream on Prompto’s lips. It’s hot as all hell, honestly, and Prompto dips his head down, nipping at Noct’s inner thigh as he cleans the cream from his skin.

 

“You’re taking _forever,”_ Noctis hisses, when Prompto draws one of Noct’s balls into his mouth, sucking on it lewdly, tongue swirling as he cleans him off. He pops his mouth free with a wet noise, and lavishes attention to the other one, sucking on the sensitive sac, running the flat of his tongue over it. Prompto laughs, the vibration running right through Noctis and drawing a heavy shudder from him. One hand curls around Prompto’s horn and _tugs,_ and Prompto feels the heat explode through him, from the root of his horns all the way down to his own trapped, throbbing cock, and that’s totally _unfair._

 

“You’re an asshole,” Prompto groans as he lifts his head away, then delves back in to lavish attention to his cock, the stud on his tongue teasing the leaking tip as he sucks at the head, then works his mouth down wet and hot over Noct’s stiff, heated shaft. Noct’s tugging at his hair, at the curve of his horn, trying to fuck up into Prompto’s mouth, but Prompto’s got the leverage, holding Noct’s hips down and eyes bright and mischievous as he sneaks little upwards glances at Noctis.

 

Prompto is _good_ at giving head. He loves driving Noctis insane with his tongue, and since he’s gotten it pierced again, it’s just another little layer of _fun._ He’s tempted to get Noctis off like this, to tease him and watch as he comes undone. And hell, Prompto knows he can do it.

 

He pulls his mouth away from Noctis though, tonguing over the head of his cock, before drawing up entirely. It’s Thanksgiving, after all, and Prompto’s just cooked a _very_ nice dinner for his incubus boyfriend. He’s in a _mood._ Well. Prompto’s always in some sort of _mood,_ let’s be honest, but he’s in a very particular one right now.

 

“Lean back,” Prompto hisses, as he ducks his head further down, tugging Noct’s legs over his shoulders. Noctis blinks, but says nothing, and as he leans back, his head thumping against the kitchen cupboards, Prompto releases his hips to grab his ass, tipping his hips up and dragging Noct’s ass to the edge of the counter. Noctis makes a _noise,_ because he gets it, and then Prompto’s pressing his tongue against the tight rim of Noct’s entrance. He smirks at the delicious sound Noctis makes, thighs spreading a little wider, Noctis bracing his hands on the edge of the counter now, lifting up a little. His tail’s propped underneath him too, supporting his ass up off the surface. It’s a good angle, and Prompto’s tongue works inside easily, eagerly lapping at the tight heat inside.

 

“Fuck,” Noctis groans, as Prompto fucks his tongue into him, hips lifting as he rocks down into the insistent press. It’s been a while since Prompto’s been calling the shots, and it’s something they’ve _both_ sorely missed, honestly. Prompto’s tongue stabs into Noct’s prostate, and they _both_ make responding sounds. Noct’s gasping, and Prompto’s making a quiet, pleased sound. He doesn’t tease long, works Noctis slick and open, and then he’s drawing back, teasing little circles pressed over Noct’s fluttering entrance, kisses over the swell of his ass and sensitive inner thighs as he draws back.

 

Noct’s definitely figured him out, because as Prompto straightens again, rising back up to his feet, Noct’s legs lower and wrap around his waist instead, and his deft hands are already working at his pants. Prompto’s so fucking hard – he’s always _so_ impatient, and his body’s always quick to respond, easily worked up – and the tip of his cock is wet. Noct’s fingers tease over the head, rubbing at the slit, and now _Prompto’s_ the one gasping. He swats Noct’s hand away, and gives himself a couple of heavy strokes, lining up, and then with a surge of his hips, he’s _inside._

Fuck, Prompto needs to do this more often. Noctis feels _good,_ fucking tight and perfect around him. Noctis takes him easy, too, with his ass lifting off the edge of the counter, meeting Prompto smooth and deep. There’s a moment when Prompto’s buried to the hilt, as deep as he can go, balls pressed into Noct’s ass, where they both simply shudder. Noct’s got his arms wrapped tight around Prompto’s neck, legs hooked at the small of his back, heels digging in, and it’s _perfect._

 

“Prom, feels good,” Noctis groans, as Prompto’s hands shift, as he grips Noct’s ass and holds him open, letting him get a better, _deeper_ angle. “Fuck, you’re _perfect—”_

 

“Don’t get all romantic on me, Noct,” Prompto laughs, but he’s breathless, his voice barely working. It feels good, Noct’s tight around him, gripping his cock in delicious heat. They almost have a moment – almost – but instead Prompto’s pulling back, and slamming back in again, and they’re going at it, rough and fast.

 

Prompto’s a rough lover, when the mood strikes him. He’s got an iron grip on Noct’s ass, enough to easily leave finger-shaped bruise marks on Noct’s pale skin where he’s holding him wide and spread open. He’s thrusting in quick, deep strokes, one that bury himself inside Noctis all the way until he bottoms out, his balls slapping into Noct’s ass. Noctis has one arm around his neck still, twined all close to Prompto, but the other hand slips free, bracing on the countertop again, the leverage letting him lift his hips.

 

It’s a little brutal, the kitchen silent except for Noctis gasping and moaning as his hips rock up into the cock splitting him open. Prompto’s breathing heavily, and he’d be panting and gasping Noct’s name, but his lips keep finding delicious skin, biting down on Noct’s shoulder, on his neck, on whatever fucking place he can. Noct’s skin tastes salty-sweet, mingling sweat and remnants of the whipped cream and pie, and it’s intoxicating.

 

Noctis _cries_ when Prompto angles just right, when he finds the place he’s looking for. He’s still pounding rough and fast, the head of his cock rubbing hot against Noct’s prostate with every deep motion. Noct’s close, his cock trapped between their bodies, hot and throbbing and leaking. There’s a deep surge of satisfaction bubbling up in Prompto. He’s a _good_ fuck, and he knows it. He’s all cocky-confident, impatient and full of energy when it comes to sex. When he’s in charge, dominating like this, there’s a certain _rush_ that comes with it. It’s part of why he is the way he is, why it’s in Prompto’s nature to keep chasing, for the high of the moment.

 

But fuck, _Noctis_ is something different. There’s more than the goddamn physical rush of it, more than the power trip. There’s another feeling, dark and terrifying and _so_ good, that Prompto can barely stand it.

 

He wrenches out of Noctis, tugs his legs down, and outright manhandles him, flipping him over. Noctis makes a needy sound – his cock’s throbbing between his legs, and Prompto knows he’s gonna come soon, he can _feel it –_ as Prompto presses a hand between his shoulder blades and pins him down against the countertop. His tail twitches and lifts and curls around Prompto’s waist, and the sensation is _good,_ somehow intimate, through all the roughness. They both cry out when Prompto slams back in, and like this, Noctis bent over the countertop, frantically gripping for purchase against the smooth surface, It’s deep and brutal and _perfect._

 

Noct’s hand makes it in the pie again as he gasps and frantically claws at the countertop. Prompto would laugh at him if he wasn’t so busy fucking into him, rough and desperate and hard jerks of his hips. The pace is brutal, and sweat’s dripping down Prompto’s face, pressing his bangs messy into his forehead as he works Noctis open, sloppy and messy and spread wide around his cock.

 

Prompto’s impatience is, of course, his downfall. He’d love to do this _forever,_ honestly, because when Noctis gets really into it, when he’s the one being pressed down and manhandled and properly fucked, he’s gorgeous. His face is pressed down against the countertop, and his hands are all messy with pie, frantically trying to claw through the counter. His thighs are trembling, and his ass is bucking back against the press of Prompto’s cock, and it’s _good,_ it’s so good. Too good, really, because heat’s building in Prompto’s belly and his cock is twitching, and he’s not gonna last.

 

One hand shifts, wraps around to stroke Noct’s cock in heavy, rough thrusts. It’s all instinct, because Prompto’s mind shuts down a little as he chases his own release. It’s good though, the jerks of his fingers perfectly timed, thumb rubbing quick circles over the head of his cock, and they’re _both_ gasping and keening out.

 

It’s one of those rare times, too, where they both come together. Noctis _shudders,_ his whole body violently trembling as he spills over Prompto’s fingers, hips bucking into the hand that’s milting his cock. He’s hot and tight around Prompto, clenching down and rocking his ass, and it draws Prompto deeper, his orgasm bursting, vision going white and the world outright spinning as he spills inside. Noct’s name is on his lips, and Prompto sags down, pressing wet kisses over Noct’s shoulder, fingers slowly relaxing, whole body going limp.

 

“Ruined the pie,” Noctis mumbles, very belatedly, when Prompto finally slips out. It’s hard to breathe, and hard to move, and they’re both leaning heavily together.

 

Prompto still manages to laugh though, at how silly and ridiculous the whole fucking situation is. “Yeah,” he agrees, “that was _way_ better than the pie, anyway, Noct.”

 

Noctis shrugs, and his legs are wobbling, threatening to give out, as Prompto pulls away and they both finally straighten. Prompto feels another surge of pride, because he’s managed to successfully fuck Noctis into barely being able to walk. He’s _totally_ still got it.

 

“Pumpkin’s my favourite though,” Noctis points out, eyeing the remnants of the pie sadly.

 

“Still plenty of leftovers—” Prompto starts to point out, but. Wait. The other side of the countertop, the one where they’d stacked all the leftover food, the turkey and the potatoes and the bread and everything else, it’s all empty plates. His eyes widen, a dreadful realization sinking in, and when Prompto looks at Noctis, he sees something similar dawning in the other incubus’s eyes.

 

“So, about those leftovers,” Noctis says, and Prompto swears, Noct’s about to burst into laughter.

 

The leftovers aren’t hard to find. They follow the trail of food scraps that lead across the kitchen floor and into the living room. The trail is steady and messy, and ends at the couch, which just so happens to be one of their malboro’s favourite hiding spots.

 

“Squishy,” Prompto groans, as he kneels down, tail swishing in annoyance as he peeks under the bottom of the couch. Several glowing eyes peer back out at him, and the malboro hisses and makes soft gurgling noises as it skitters further back. “C’mon out little guy, I’m not _mad…”_

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. He’s leaning back against the wall, still totally naked, surveying the situation. He’s a total mess, too, covered in semen and pie remnants, Prompto’s mess lazily leaking down his thighs. “If he ate all that, he’s probably stuck under there. You’re gonna have to lift the couch.”

 

Prompto sighs and scrambles to his feet. He lifts the couch up off the ground, and sure enough, the malboro half wobbles, half rolls out. Poor Squishy is… well, squishy, his body all bloated. His tentacles are all swollen up, and there’s slime dripping lazily from the corner of his fanged little mouth.

 

“Squishy! What the hell did Noctis do to you?!” Prompto groans, letting the couch fall back to the ground as soon as the malboro is out. He reaches down for the creature, and Squishy’s _definitely_ heavier than he was before. “Noctis! This is all your fault!”

 

“Mine?! How it is my fault?” Noctis looks _very_ unimpressed, his arms crossing over his chest, tail swishing at his side.

 

“You distracted me! _And_ you ruined the pie!” Prompto whines. Squishy makes a pathetic gurgling sound and immediately proceeds to vomit up a slimy, half eaten turkey carcass all over his shirt. “Goddamnit Noctis!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squishy is the real hero of this fic, let's be honest. I'm living vicariously through him, eating all the food.  
> twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree / numi is @numinoceur.  
> these boys are our heart and soul currently~ see ya tomorrow.  
> [Companion art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/917642452986507264)


	11. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Noctis get in a fight, and Prompto kinda causes a freak snowstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10!  
> We wanted angst and this was a good idea we had, so we went with it~  
> There's some light bathtub sex and uhhh.... angst. Not a whole lot of kink. Oops. I promise the kinkier stuff is coming but plot keeps sneaking in.  
> [Bonus art for today!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/917990031834402816)

No relationship is perfect. It’s just a fact of life, even for ones that are several centuries old at this point.

 

Noctis and Prompto have a good deal of stupid fights under their belts. There’s that one time that Prompto nearly drowned the entire city, of course. There’s another time where – though neither of them will _ever_ admit it – they stubbornly argued about _not_ being in love with each other. There’s been incidents of jealousy, and Prompto losing control again, and Noctis sleeping too much and being lazy, and _once_ a few years back when Prompto ate the last of Noct’s ice cream. And countless more, of course. It just _happens._

Right now, though? They’re having a particularly vicious argument.

 

Prompto’s been doing better. Noctis _knows_ this. He’s admitted as much. There’s only been a couple of minor incidents over the past month. His appetite’s been slightly – _slightly –_ more manageable, but the mood swings are better. The weather’s been mellow. Noctis has to admit, Prompto’s happier with the malboro around.

 

The problem, of course, lies in Squishy having a vendetta against him. Prompto claims it’s a dominance thing.

 

All Noctis knows is that his favourite pair of boots, _goddamnit,_ have been chewed into bits.

 

“Prompto,” Noctis sighs, brandishing what was _once_ a boot. Now, it’s just a lumpy mess of vaguely boot-shaped torn leather. “I _know_ you love Squishy, but can you _do_ something about this?!”

 

Prompto rolls his eyes. He’s got Squishy in his arms, and the malboro is purring and stroking a tentacle up the side of his face, acting very innocent. “He’s _teething,_ Noct. Maybe you should learn to put your boots away so this doesn’t happen.”

 

“My boots were in the closet!” Noctis is trying very damn hard to stay patient. It’s been a _day_ though. Squishy woke him up early by sleeping on his chest, _again,_ and a sleep deprived Noctis is not the nicest. Prompto had eaten the last of the cereal – Noct’s latest guilty mortal pleasure – and then Squishy had slimed on the shirt he was gonna wear, and now his _boots…_ it’s the last straw.

 

“Yeah, because Squishy can _totally_ open doors, Noct,” Prompto rolls his eyes and pets the malboro.

 

“He’s a _malboro._ He has _tentacles!_ Of course he can open doors!” Noctis throws his arms up in frustration. He can’t even _believe_ Prompto’s ignorance as far as the malboro goes. The damn thing has been increasingly territorial and vicious to him lately. Noctis doesn’t mind the bites much, they heal almost instantly, but Squishy’s doing it on purpose. Ignis has pointed out that the little monster is… well, monstrous, and Noct’s starting to agree.

 

Prompto, of course, is immediately on the defense. His eyes are narrowed, and Noct can _feel_ the energy in the room. He needs to diffuse this, before Prompto gets too worked up, but right now, Noctis isn’t thinking rationally either. He _liked_ those fucking boots, damnit. This day is _shit._

 

“What are you suggesting, Noctis?! You want me to get rid of him, is that it?!”

 

“ _No!”_ Noct’s voice is a little louder than he’s intending it to be. He can’t help it. “I mean— _ideally,_ no, but—”

 

“But?!” Prompto takes a step back. Outside, thunder crashes in the distance, the storm rapidly building and approaching, electricity thick in the air. “Noctis, I can’t fucking help it that you’re _jealous_ of my goddamn pet! What, you think I’m not capable of loving both of you?!”

 

What?

 

_What?!_

“I’m not goddamn jealous!” It was a low blow, and they both know it, for Prompto to suggest that Noct’s _jealous._ He’s not. He’s absolutely not jealous of the damn tentacle monster. Squishy is _helping_ Prompto’s moods. Noctis got the pet for him in the first place! Hell, he got Squishy one of those harnesses so Prompto could take him out in public! He’s been nothing but supportive, but the creature hates him for some reason, and it’s driving him insane, and Prompto’s _avoiding_ the problem, damnit—

 

“I just want your stupid pet to stop terrorizing me!” Noctis thrusts the boot out in Prompto’s direction again, “do you _know_ how hard it was to get this colour?!”

 

“Stop acting like your _shoes_ are more important than my damn pet!” Prompto hisses. He’s taking another step back. The malboro is reacting to Prompto’s emotions now too, and he slithers down out of his arms, hissing at Noctis, standing between them, his stubby little tentacles poised like he’s going to attack to defend his master’s honour.

 

“Stop acting like your _pet_ is blameless and grow the fuck _up,_ Prompto!” Noct’s voice is loud, louder than he intended, frantic with emotion that he’s been bottling up for a couple of weeks now. “Stop blaming me for your fucking problems! It’s not _my_ fault you can’t control yourself and need help with _everything!”_ There’s a _crash_ of thunder outside, and the window rattles with a sudden burst of frigid air, drowning out Noct’s words.

 

That, funny enough, is the breaking point for Prompto.

 

“Grow up?” Prompto’s eyes widen. In that moment, Noctis realizes what he’s _said,_ and he realizes the emotion swirling in the other incubus’s eyes is a mix of anger and _hurt._ Fuck. Fuck, he didn’t mean to lose control, Noctis _doesn’t_ lose control, but Prompto’s already turning on his feet to leave. “Fine, Noctis. I’ll stop _asking_ for help. I’ll leave you the fuck alone!”

 

“Prompto—” Noctis starts to say, but Prompto’s already stalking to the front door, slamming it behind him, Squishy following at his heels and slipping out behind him.

 

Noct’s alone in the apartment, his head spinning, still holding his sad, torn boot in his hand. Fuck.

 

\---

 

Noctis gives Prompto an hour before he goes looking.

 

Maybe he should’ve gone instantly and chased right after him, but he’d said something _hurtful,_ and he’d wanted to give his boyfriend time to calm down. They’ve fought before, after all. Apart from the time Prompto had disappeared for an entire week and drowned the city, Prompto always comes back fast enough when he runs off. He’d learned his lesson.

 

But the sky darkens, and stormclouds come in. Noctis gets concerned when sleet starts falling from the sky. When it turns to snow, though – the first snowfall of the year, too – he makes up his mind. He’s going after Prompto.

 

The mortal news rambles on about the ‘freak snowstorm’ that’s swept up the city early in the year as Noctis tugs a different pair of boots on, and pulls his sweater over his head, and rushes outside. There’s already several inches of snow falling down. It’s a thick wall of white swirling and blowing as the snow falls, making it fucking impossible to see more than a foot in front of his face. And fuck, Noctis is an incubus, he’s largely unaffected by the cold, but it’s _freezing_ out. The wind is bitter and the snow is wet and clingy, whipping into his face as it falls, and it makes everything hurt.

 

Fuck. Fuck, this isn’t good. Noctis realizes a few minutes into this mess that he should’ve gone looking earlier. Prompto had rushed out in jeans and a tank top, no fucking sweater, and this cold isn’t _natural._ It’s the result of one hell of an awful mood. A heartbroken daemon is a _bad thing._

 

The streets grow totally empty very fast, all the smarter humans quickly making their way home to wait out the storm. There’s no cars on the roads, and the few that _were_ attempting to drive through the storm abandon their vehicles and walk to safety. It’s coming down impossibly fast, and soon Noct’s buried to his knees as he tries to stumble through the snow. It’s disorienting. If he wasn’t an incubus with other senses to rely on, Noctis gets the distinct feeling that he’d he wandering hopelessly in circles, doomed to become lost and starve and freeze to death.

 

Noctis finds the malboro first, because of _course_ he does.

 

It’s a miracle that Squishy isn’t buried in the snow. The little creature is huddled up against the side of a building. The wind is howling and swirling something fierce, and that’s probably the only thing that saves Squishy, because there’s a high snowdrift that serves as a barrier between the wall and the little monster. His tentacles are curled in around his face, and he’s hiding in the tiny space between the snowdrift and the wall, and Noctis just so happens to see the speck of green standing out against the stark white.

 

“Squish!”

 

Noctis dives through the snowdrift and reaches down to pluck the malboro up. The creature’s cold to the touch, and shuddering violently, and he barely responds as Noctis tucks him under his sweater, pressing Squishy’s body up against the heat of his skin. It’s like pressing a fucking ice pack to his chest – and hell, the soft, rubbery texture is _weird_ – but Noctis shivers and ignores it, and _fuck._ He’d forgotten that Malboros are weak to cold, damnit.

 

“Where’s Prompto?” Noctis asks Squishy, as if the damn creature will actually be able to tell him. Squishy makes a pathetic little noise, but doesn’t respond, weakly curling a tentacle around his body to try and sap more warmth. Squishy’s barely conscious, and Noctis _knows_ he’s in trouble here. He’s got a fucking decision to make, and it hits him square in the face, has him reeling.

 

Prompto _can’t_ be far from here. Squishy is never far from his owner – Noctis _knows_ it, and he can sense it, he can tell Prompto’s close by. If he keeps looking though, the malboro’s not gonna last. Incubi are strong, they’d had a really nice bout of sex before Noct’s attempted nap, and the cold sucks right now, yeah, but it can’t _hurt_ them, right?! And Prompto will never forgive him if he lets Squishy die, fuck—

 

Noctis makes up his mind, and he turns. His footsteps are already wiped away by the steady wall of snow falling from the sky and by the wind gathering it up, sweeping around and turning everything into a freezing, blurry mess, but he knows where he is, and where he’s going. And hell, Noctis even manages to _run,_ his own brand of incubus magic a blue whirl around him as he blinks out of existence and reappears mid-air further down the street. The drain is _strong,_ stronger than he’d expected, and he’s exhausted by the time they get back home, but Squishy’s still trembling in his arms, still with him.

 

Noct’s not really sure how to deal with a half-frozen malboro, as he gets the poor creature inside. His mind’s still tearing him in two directions. He’s _terrified_ for Prompto. Now that he’s inside, the warmth slowly working back into him, he’s realizing that Prompto’s _alone_ out there. He’s without Noct, and he’s without Squishy, and he’s probably hurt and angry and scared and—there’s another fierce rattling of wind, enough that Noctis swears the window’s going to shatter into pieces (which would _honestly_ be a first). Fuck, Noct’s suddenly _terrified,_ because he’s realizing just how bad this is.

 

He’s running on pure fucking instinct at this point, too. Noctis has _no_ idea what to do, but the bath seems like a good idea, since Squishy is always drawn to the heat. Noct’s found the damn thing clinging to his leg while he showers more than _once._

 

“C’mon,” Noctis is barely containing his own panic as he gets hot water running, and gets Squishy plopped down in the tub, wrapped up in a towel. The malboro makes a sound that he _thinks_ is pleased, and seems to squirm and respond a bit to the heat, and really, that’s all Noctis knows how to fucking do. He collapses against the side of the tub – he’s exhausted, his _head_ hurts, and he doesn’t _get_ headaches, he’s a fucking incubus. He’s terrified, and he realizes that there’s a dull thumping sound and it’s his _tail_ reacting nervously, twitching and smacking against the side of the tub. Fuck.

 

“I’m sorry, Squish,” Noctis sighs out, his forehead pressing into the edge of the tub, a hand draped over the side. The sleeve of his sweater’s dipping into the water and getting wet, but he doesn’t care, as he runs his fingers nervously over the trembling little malboro. Squishy’s pale, but a bit of the vibrant green is blossoming through him again, and the malboro makes another quiet sound, a tentacle curling around his fingers.

 

“… I fucked up, huh? I’m scared,” and Noctis doesn’t know why the fuck he’s admitting this aloud, or why his eyes feel stupid and wet. He and Prompto have been together _a long time,_ yeah, but they’re incubi. They’re self-sufficient and they don’t rely on anyone, so why does Prompto being gone feel so wrong, so _horrible?!_

Noctis doesn’t know. He’s scared. He wants Prompto back.

 

“I’m gonna go find him,” he says, after a long few moments of silence. The malboro’s tentacles are undulating and pulsing again, and his eyes are alert, brighter, and Noctis thinks, at least, he saved Prompto’s damn pet. “You gonna be okay?”

 

Squishy makes a purring noise and it’s a knife twist into Noct’s heart. Goddamnit, he _loves_ the stupid little guy, too. This fight was _stupid._ And for once, Squishy doesn’t seem to hate him quite so much.

 

\---

 

Fear quickly turns to _terror,_ which turns to outright panic. There’s an unusually high spike in suicides on this particular night, and it’ll be a big deal on the news after the fact. Nobody associates it with a crazy supernatural force of distressed incubi though; it’s simply assumed to be a side effect of the absolute _freak_ storm that’s blasting the city. Noct’s mood is a mess too though, and even though his isn’t nearly as devastating, it’s mingling with Prompto’s and making things _that_ much worse.

 

The snow’s almost up to his knees. Noctis feels like he’s been wandering for _hours._ He can pinpoint, vaguely, where Prompto is, at least within a couple of blocks, and the other incubus didn’t make it far. Most likely, he’d stopped when he’d realized Squishy was gone, and _fuck,_ Prompto probably thinks the other incubus is dead, and this is _not good._

 

This is worse than not good. It’s _definitely_ worse than the time that Prompto flooded the entire fucking city. The air is cold enough that it _hurts_ to breathe, and the snow’s a mess, and Noctis is barely keeping it together himself. He has no idea how Prompto’s holding up.

 

The answer, of course, is that Prompto _isn’t_ holding up.

 

It’s another miracle when Noctis even _finds_ him. He’s checking alleyways and behind dumpsters, hoping desperately that Prompto crawled into a closed-up storefront or snuck into a building to wait the storm out. Noctis _knows_ better, though. He knows Prompto, and he knows that once Squishy disappeared, that’s what his focus would be. It’d be panic, and a meltdown.

 

It’s pure, intimate knowledge of Prompto that has Noctis ducking into a nearby park where they sometimes take the malboro for walks. It’s an _important_ place. They started coming to this park back when the trees were first planted, and now they’re massive, towering over some of the nearby buildings. There’s a bench that Noctis carved their name into as a joke about ‘silly mortal affections’ and it’s still there, all these years later, water-stained and faded, but visible. It’s dumb. This is somewhere a _human_ would go, with memories and stupid fond thoughts. It’s all bullshit _love_ stuff.

 

Prompto’s curled under a tree, and he’s covered in a blanket of snow. He looks more like a _lump_ than anything, but Noctis recognizes him instantly.

 

“Prom!”

 

There’s no response, and Noctis feels an icy hand reach down into the very core of him and _wrench_ at his heart. The cold and the snow shouldn’t have this much of an effect. They’re _daemons._ They aren’t subject to mortal problems. Yeah, it’s draining away some of Noct’s energy, being out here, but Prompto’s _stronger_ than he is. That much has been obvious for… a long time, but Ignis still hasn’t quite figured out the other incubus in all these years, and that’s an enigma in itself.

 

Noct’s thoughts are racing, and he’s on the verge of panic. He’s pretty sure tears are freezing in the corner of his eyes – incubi _don’t_ cry, fuck – as he stumbles through the snow over to where Prompto’s curled up against the tree.

 

“Prom, hey, you think you can walk?”

 

Prompto doesn’t respond. His eyes are half-closed and lifeless, and he’s cold to the touch. He’s not dead. Noct’s only seen another dead incubus _once_ – it’s a long story – but they wither away and char and blacken when they die, and Prompto’s very much himself, though he’s pale and cold. The lack of response is _not_ good, though.

 

And fuck. Noct’s gathering Prompto up in his arms when he realizes, even in the dim light, that his horns are dull, monochrome, greyer than they’ve ever been before, and at the very tips, they’ve started to turn _black._

 

Fuck.

 

“You aren’t fucking dying on me,” Noctis hisses, and he’s exhausted and worn down, but he somehow finds the energy to practically _fly_ back home.

 

\---

 

Noctis doesn’t know what to do. He should call Ignis, maybe, but Prompto’s moods are so fragile, and he tends to get _nervous_ around Ignis, even after all these fucking years. He does better around Gladio, but Prompto’s still flighty around other incubi in general, and if this turns, if it gets _worse,_ Noct’s gonna lose him.

 

He can’t lose Prompto.

 

That much is a certainty. Noctis doesn’t know _what_ he’d do. They’ve been together too long. They’ve made an impossible, stupid life for themselves, dumb as it is. It’s domestic, it’s utterly drab and _human,_ and they’re both so fucking happy. Noctis isn’t about to throw himself into suicidal ideals, but the mere idea of going on without his companion? It’s got a strange, awful choking feeling tearing through him. Something that sounds horribly like a _sob_ bubbles up, and there’s a desperation Noct’s _never_ felt before.

 

Squishy’s back to his normal self, at least, curled up at the edge of the still-lukewarm tub when Noctis rushes into the bathroom. All he can think of is getting some _heat_ into Prompto. Some heat, and some _food,_ some good, proper food. They’ll need to hunt after this, and Noct’s _tired_ on his own, but he’s got the energy for this. There’s a slosh of water over the edge of the tub as he gets Prompto settled in, not even bothering with his frozen clothing. Squishy clambers over the side and curls up around Prompto’s neck, nudging his little tentacles into his owner’s frozen, freckled skin, and Noctis hopes, feels _desperate,_ blind hope, that it’ll be enough to keep Prompto going.

 

“We’re gonna warm you up, Prom,” Noctis promises, turning the water on again, sighing at the steam rushing up, filling the room. There’s no response – another surge of panic – and Noctis tries to keep himself steady, tries to be a calming presence, _anything_ to help Prompto.

 

Prompto groans, and Noct’s heart leaps into his chest. Groans are good. _Sound_ is good. It means Prompto’s waking up, and waking up means he can _eat,_ and then he’ll be okay, and they can fix this. Noctis is pretty sure daemons aren’t instinctively good at _fixing_ things. They’re meant to be solitary, and the fact that they’re grown into this codependent, domestic mess… well, it defies everything they’re supposed to be.

 

Yeah, the sex is _fantastic,_ but they’re made to be fucking humans and eating their energy, not messing around with each other so goddamn much.

 

“Noct—”

 

Noct’s heart lurches into his chest and his breath quickens and he’s leaning over the side of the tub, completely ignoring how his shirt is soaked, as he curls his arms around Prompto, helps him to sit up a little in the water. Prompto’s skin is still cold, but it’s not icy anymore, and the other daemon’s eyes are blinking open. They’re dull, and there’s something flashing there, something horrible—

 

“ _Fuck!”_ Prompto hisses, whimpering and gasping and weakly clutching at Noct’s arm, “… this _hurts,_ what the hell Noctis, why does it hurt?!”

 

Daemons aren’t supposed to feel pain, either. There’s only _two_ times when they really feel pain: when they want to, and when they’re dying. Prompto’s definitely not _enjoying_ this, and that means—fuck. Fuck.

 

“Calm down, Prom, you gotta _eat,”_ Noctis tries to say, but Prompto’s thrashing in his arms, eyes wide and dull and _alive_ with pain all at the same time, a strange dichotomy that’s eating Noctis alive, that’s got his whole body thrumming with sudden _panic._ It’s not helping, he’s not helping at all. The energy in the room is crackling, all nerves and pain and fear, and it’s feeding Prompto _all_ the wrong things, he’s gasping and crying. The charred, black tips of Prompto’s horns are twisting, the darkness slowly spreading in tendrils up along the sides, and the panic isn’t helping, it’s just draining him _more._

 

“Fuck,” Noctis says, to nobody in particular, and he needs to think of something encouraging to say, _anything –_ “Prom, we’ve got you. Squishy’s here, right?”

 

The little malboro, still curled around Prompto’s neck, stirs, a tentacle sliding over Prompto’s face, stroking against a horribly pale, cold cheek.

 

“… Squish?” Prompto’s voice is weak, far-off, but the sobbing fades, and the tremors wracking his body falter a little. “… he’s okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis leans in closer, his lips brushing over Prompto’s forehead. His whole front is soaked from the hot water now, but he absolutely doesn’t care, because outside, the storm is dying down, just a _little,_ and the tension in the room seems to be easing. “I found him, Prom. We’re good. All three of us. We’re _home.”_

 

Prompto nods, weakly. The black of his horns stands stark and horrible against his matted, soaked blonde hair, but the swirling strands of darkness seem to have stopped spreading, for the moment. “… home. Yeah. S’good, Noctis.” A hand reaches, weakly, and tangles into Noct’s hair, tugging him closer, so they’re pressed close, Noct’s cheek resting on Prompto’s forehead.

 

“Hurts, Noct,” Prompto sighs out, shuddering, “why does it hurt?”

 

“Because you need to eat,” Noctis responds, and he doesn’t offer up the other part – ‘ _because you’ve got a foot in the grave’ –_ since he knows that’s just gonna make things worse. Hell, Noctis doesn’t know how he’s keeping it together. It’s probably out of sheer necessity. One bit of panic, one spiral of Prompto’s mood, and it’s _over._

 

They’ve had a lot of years together. They’ve been _really fucking happy._ They’ve defied pretty much all odds and made it here, and even if it’s not something that two daemons should be doing, the companionship balances them out. It’s turned Prompto from a feral, half-wild, murderous daemon into a bright presence in Noct’s life. Prompto’s _given_ Noctis a life, hell, a purpose other than sleeping and feeding.

 

“ ‘m hungry,” Prompto says, quietly, and he’s trying to sit up, shuddering and wincing as he does, “can I?”

 

“Yeah – fuck, Prom, let’s get some food in you,” Noctis agrees. He draws back just enough to tug his sopping wet sweater off his body. His pants are soaked, too, caked in half-melted snow, and Noct wiggles out of them. Prompto struggles with his shirt and his pants, but they’re clingy and heavy in the water, and Noctis tends to him next.

 

“Idiot, let me take care of you,” Noctis chides, as he slides into the tub next to Prompto. It’s big enough for the two of them, Noctis settling in front of Prompto, on his knees, and he sets to work getting the wet clothes off, slopping them over the side of the tub to fall into a messy, wet pile on the floor. The bathroom’s going to be trashed, but that’s the last thing on Noct’s mind. Squishy’s still tangled around Prompto’s neck, but, as Noctis leans forward, gathering Prompto into his arms and helping him to set up, the malboro disentangles. He doesn’t go far – he never does – and Noctis always gets so goddamn annoyed that their stupid pet has to stare at them fucking. It’s not like being watched bothers him, but it’s a _malboro._

 

Right now, though, Noctis absolutely doesn’t care. He’s pretty sure that he owes Squishy for Prompto’s life, because it had been the little malboro who had cut through the panic. It’s always Squishy, keeping Prompto safe and happy, and there’s a little surge of _guilt –_ such a human emotion – because it had been Noct bitching about his boots of all things that triggered all this.

 

“Come here,” Noctis pushes all that aside, as he draws Prompto up into his arms. Prompto’s stirring, not fighting against him, as his arms curl around Noct’s neck. Prompto’s skin is still cold, though he’s warming up some, and Noctis sighs as he presses a kiss into one pale, cold, freckled shoulder. One arm’s wrapped tightly around Prompto’s waist, the other is slipping between them. Prompto’s too exhausted to be hard, for once, despite their bodies being pressed close, despite the fact that he’s _starving,_ so goddamn in need of sex.

 

Still, Prompto manages a weak, happy little sigh when Noct’s fingers curl around his cock. It twitches in his fingers, half-hearted, but _there,_ and Noctis sighs, stroking over the length of him, fingers brushing the tip, eager to coax out a reaction.

 

“I’m sorry,” and Noctis surprises himself with the words, whispered into Prompto’s shoulder. The apology is sincere, and there’s a tremor to his voice he can’t quite help. Noctis feels _terrible,_ like he’s let Prompto down, like he’s nearly ruined _everything._ “Prom, fuck, I’m _sorry.”_

 

Prompto’s fingers tighten at the back of his neck, and he’s nodding, faintly, his face pressed into Noct’s neck, “s’okay, Noct. I… can we talk about it later? Want you.”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, “later,” and he means it. They’re gonna talk about this.

 

For now, Noctis tips Prompto’s head up, and catches his lips in a kiss. There’s a thought rushing through his mind that he almost _didn’t_ get to kiss Prompto ever again like this. It’s a tight knot of heat, it’s something terrible, but something beautiful too, because they’re _here,_ together. Noctis puts all his emotion into kissing Prompto, gasping into the other daemon’s mouth, sighing when Prompto opens up for him. Prompto tastes good, despite all the terror and panic, and the press of his tongue piercing into the roof of Noct’s mouth is familiar.

 

“Love you,” Noctis is mumbling, when the kiss parts, and they both gasp for breath, and then this time, Prompto’s surging forward now, stealing Noct’s lips, dominating the kiss. It’s _good,_ for so many reasons, and in no small part because Prompto seems to be regaining a bit of energy. He’s feeding off the fucking kiss, Noctis realizes, as he feels the familiar draw, the swirl of energy in the air, the heat clenching in the pit of his stomach, knotted tight against his belly. Noct’s exhausted, too, but he’s got more than enough for both of them. They’ll need a nap, and then they’ll need to properly eat, but they can _make_ it to that point.

 

Noct’s still got his fingers curled around Prompto’s length, when the kiss parts. Prompto’s finally responding, his cock swelling under Noct’s talented fingers, and his lips are wet and parted and a bit bruised. They press together, forehead-to-forehead, Noctis occasionally leaning in to steal more of those sweet kisses, gentle presses of lips, all love and affection.

 

“Noct,” Prompto gasps, slowly rocking his hips forward, “fuck, it _hurts,_ but s’good, too—”

 

“The pain’s gonna go away,” Noctis promises, and he doesn’t _know_ that it will, but he’s damn determined, and when he chances a glance up, when he draws his head away to get a good look at Prompto, his horns seem a little less blackened.

 

Prompto nods, and leans in again, and this time, he’s distracting himself from the ache with kisses that run up along the curve of Noct’s jaw, pausing to nip and nibble and suck at his earlobe, then back down again, to steal more kisses. They kiss a lot, slow, then urgent, then soft presses of feather-light kisses over the corner of mouths, and then they’re outright making out again, panting against each other as their tongues curl.

 

Prompto gasps when Noctis starts working his cock in rough, steady strokes, with the little flick of thumb at the tip. He’s trembling, and it’s not all from pain now, and Noctis surges in again, steals another deep, desperate kiss, until their lips are both swollen, until there’s tears on both of their cheeks and neither of them even fucking knows who’s crying, or maybe they both are, but it’s _good._

“Noct, please,” Prompto mumbles, and Noctis knows what Prompto’s asking, out of sheer instinct. It’s instinct with them, a deep, personal knowledge of _exactly_ what the other needs. They simply _know_ at this point. Noctis shifts his grip, tugs Prompto’s hips up, until he’s fully straddling his lap. Prompto’s got his arms twined around Noct’s neck, clinging for dear life, but he has the energy to reach back, to get Noctis positioned up against his ass.

 

When Prompto sinks down onto his cock, they both _gasp._ They’re still in the tub, the water’s all hot and rushing around them, and it’s perfect. It’s perfect, it’s never felt better than this moment. Prompto’s gotta be in pain still, little tremors still wracking his body and making him gasp and choke, but the sex is good, intimate and close and so damn heated. When it’s like this, when one of them is starving and desperate, the sex is usually frantic and frenzied and needy. Instead, now, it’s a gentle roll of hips, it’s Prompto trembling, clasping both arms around Noct’s neck again, their foreheads pressing together, lips roaming across cheeks and down throats, nipping and chasing the thrum of pulse that shouldn’t even exist.

 

Prompto’s too exhausted to fight off his orgasm, and Noct’s too goddamn _relieved_ to care. The pace is slow and deep, with Noctis guiding Prompto’s hips, lifting him and angling just right to drive into his prostate. Prompto’s trapped cock is rubbing over both of their bellies, caught between taut abs and trembling muscles, and it’s all shifted. All that nervous energy, all that fear and terror, it’s twisted into something _amazing._ It’s _good,_ it’s pure fucking electricity, it’s passion thrumming through their veins and driving them on.

 

Noct’s pretty sure he’s mumbling, “I love you,” against Prompto’s lips when he comes. He’s not sure, because it’s an explosion before his eyes. Prompto’s gasping and writhing, crying out in pain-pleasure as he comes too, spilling between their bellies. The bathroom’s a mess, hot water sloshing around them in the damn tub, water spilling over the sides, getting all over the floor. Prompto’s gasping, biting into Noct’s wet skin, fingers clawing at the back of his neck, as he rides it out.

 

“Noct – love you – please – fuck – I…” Prompto can’t talk, can’t do anything except mumble a mantra of words, disjointed and confused, as he goes limp into Noctis. Noct holds him there, cradles Prompto in his arms. He’s still buried inside, Prompto’s tight and hot and gripping at him deliciously, and there’s still tears in his goddamn eyes. Noctis is _terrified,_ he doesn’t wanna look up.

 

“I’m so sorry, Prom,” Noctis mumbles, and when Prompto slowly draws back, still shaking like a leaf, Noct’s forced to look at him. He’s terrified of what he’ll see.

 

The black tendrils that were slowly corrupting and mutating Prompto’s horns are gone. There’s still a thin, monochrome sheen to the colours; they aren’t vibrant and bright like they should be. There’s no sharp swirls of pink and red and blue, all muted beauty. But Prompto’s not _dying._ He’s weak, but he’s _alive,_ and Noct’s cock twitches. He has the energy to go again. Fuck, he has the energy to carry Prompto to bed, to love him until he’s got his strength back, and then they’ll go get a proper meal.

 

“… I’m sorry, too,” Prompto admits, quietly. “… you’re right, Noct, I’ve been an asshole, I—”

 

“I love you,” Noctis simply says, interrupting, “I love you, and you’re not allowed to leave, Prom, _never_ leave me.”

 

Prompto nods, quietly. There’s a squirming sound, and Squishy’s crawling up the side of the tub again, and this time, he’s scrambling up Noct’s arm to settle right at his neck. The weight is heavy, and uncomfortable, but damnit, Noctis loves the stupid little malboro too.

 

He loves his dumb, domestic family, and as much as Noctis might try to deny otherwise… he’s _happy._ Just like this.

 

Outside, the snow’s stopped. Everything is blanketed in a thick coat of white, and it’s oddly peaceful. People will later report that their dark moods lifted almost instantly, and soon, in their city below, everyone will be venturing out in awe of the freak autumn snowstorm.

 

“Let’s go to bed, Noct,” Prompto’s saying, safe and warm inside, still shuddering, still experiencing the dull pain that’s a harsh reminder of his brush with death. But the pain is fading, too, and soon it’ll only be a lingering memory of, ‘hey, remember that time you almost died?’

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree  
> numi is @numinoceur. <3  
> come scream with us!
> 
> [beautiful, amazing, perfect art for this chapter!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/917990031834402816)


	12. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Prompto have that conversation they need to have. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober Day 11!  
> there were good prompts today. i tried to work with them. but i wanted to do bonus fluff, and I'm _exhausted_ today, so the second fic wasn't working. So! I expanded this one, and did different prompts instead. so today have some rimming, facesitting, and 69ing.  <3

They’re tucked up together in bed, all tangled limbs and finally warmed skin, finally somewhat sated. Well, Prompto is. Noctis has seen better days. He’s _exhausted._ He needs a proper meal, but Noct’s appetite has always been less ferocious than Prompto’s, anyway, and he can push aside the gnawing hunger pains.

 

The history of their relationship is long, with its ups and downs, its highs and lows, spirals and peaks and heavy drops. _This_ is a first though. They’ve been together so many mortal lifetimes, at this point, that there’s no way they don’t love each other. Noctis knows _this._ He’s admitted it, even though the realization came slow at first.

 

He’s never been so desperately, frantically grateful for Prompto’s presence, though. It’s not so much that he’s taken the other incubus for granted. Rather, maybe, Noct’s taken their immortality for granted. They _aren’t_ immortal though. They’re ageless, yes, but—they _can_ die.

 

Of course, Noctis _knew_ this already. He knew it, but fuck, he doesn’t want to think about it. It’s stirring up vague memories, things he’s tried to push aside, and he refuses to think about it right now.

 

“Everything okay, Noct?” Prompto asks.

 

He’s half-sprawled over Noct’s body. They’re still riding out the final high of sex, and there’d been a _lot_ of sex. They’d moved from the bathroom to the bedroom, and Noctis had fucked Prompto into the mattress a few times, then they’d ended it with Prompto’s chest pressed into Noct’s back as Prompto took him like that. Prompto drained a _lot_ from Noctis, and there’s a little wobble of concern that through all this, Noct will be the one fully draining himself. Noctis hates himself sometimes, because there’s always that tiny nagging fear that Prompto will take too much. They’re okay though, content, _alive._

 

And Noct’s horns are still violet, though a little dulled, but they haven’t gone the monochrome that Prompto’s tend to when he’s starving; they certainly haven’t gone black and twisted.

 

“…. Everything’s okay,” Noctis agrees, a little belatedly, realizing he’s been silent. Their legs are tangled together, and Prompto’s got his chin propped up on Noct’s chest, a hand lazily stroking over cooling skin and toned muscle. “… just _thinking.”_

“Shouldn’t think,” Prompto points out with a quiet laugh, “sounds like a bad time.”

 

Noctis laughs, too, and the arm he’s got looped around Prompto’s waist tightens a little, squeezing him in closer. Prompto’s right, of course. If they think about this too much, it’s too easy to get lost in it. The fact that he’d almost lost his goddamn companion is terrifying, and just _thinking_ about being alone after all these years… Noctis shudders.

 

“Hey,” Prompto says, quietly, sensing Noct’s thoughts – because he always knows what Noctis is thinking, in moments like these – “it’s okay, Noct. I feel… well, still weak as hell.” Prompto laughs self-consciously through that part, but he’s still smiling. “I’ll be okay, though. No more panic attacks. Promise.”

 

It’s a promise that Noctis knows Prompto isn’t making in the long run. Centuries have gone by, and they’re still occasionally stumbling into this problem, the one where Prompto has a meltdown and loses complete control and chaos happens. This is worse than all the other times, he’d almost _died,_ but…

 

“I’m never letting you get hurt like that,” Noctis says, quiet and fierce, “ever again, Prom. I—”

 

Incubi don’t cry. So why the fuck does it keep happening?

 

Noctis hates it, honestly, the way his eyes are wet, as he blinks rapidly and the words die in his throat. He squeezes Prompto a little rougher, and falls silent. Prompto’s quiet, too, but his hand slides down, finding one of Noct’s, and giving it a squeeze. Noctis squeezes back, and they shift a little. One arm’s still tightly looped around Prompto’s waist, the other has their fingers twined together. Noct draws Prompto’s hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss into the back of his hand, over his knuckles, and he ignores the way Prompto’s hand comes back wet with his tears. Fuck.

 

They should talk about this.

 

Prompto adjusts his weight, shifting a little so he’s settled on the bed at Noct’s side, his leg draped over Noct’s, his face pressed into his shoulder. Their tangled fingers settle on Noct’s chest, right over his thumping heart, and they simply stay like _this._ For once, sleep isn’t taking them, either. Noctis wants to pretend that it’s hunger pains, but those are second to _everything._

 

There’s a chirping sound, and Squishy wriggles up the side of the bed, staring at them with his numerous glowing eyes as he wobbles his way over on stumpy tentacles. The malboro’s absolutely not allowed on the bed, but it doesn’t stop him – Noctis is used to waking up with the damn thing curled up on his chest, all uncomfortable and awkward.

  
And for once, Noct doesn’t object. He simply sighs, and stifles a little grumble when Squishy curls up on the edge of his pillow, right next to his face, a tentacle slithering down over his shoulder.

 

Noctis shakes his head. He should still _say_ something. They’re gonna talk, right?

 

“… about earlier,” Noct’s voice is quiet again, and he feels Prompto stiffen against him, just a little. Squishy stirs, and Noct feels the eyes on him again, but the malboro isn’t biting him, at least. Damn thing.

 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Prompto replies, quickly. Noctis tips his head to the side, neck craning as he looks down at the other daemon. Prompto’s horns are shimmering their normal colours, a bit subdued, but still pink and blue and red, and that’s comforting. Noctis takes strength in that, takes a deep breath, and pushes on.

 

“We _should_ talk about it,” Noctis admits, with another of those quiet, self-conscious laughs. His voice is wobbly. He’s a bit of a mess. Prompto squeezes his hand though, and Squishy snuggles in closer, and for once, it feels like the creature is actually encouraging him, rather than simply sucking warmth out of his body.

 

“Probably should,” Prompto agrees, burying his face in Noct’s chest. “… Noctis, I… I _do_ try, you know that, right?”

 

Noctis _knows._ He knows it with his whole heart and soul, and he doesn’t fucking know why it hurts so much to think about it. But every time he does, there’s this wrenching feeling in his chest, like someone’s trying to rip out his still-beating heart. If he has a heart that’s actually beating, of course, because he doesn’t really _need_ one. Details.

 

“I know you try,” he says, quickly, filling the silence. “… you’re doing a good job, Prom. _Really.”_

 

Noct means that, too. Sometimes, he _forgets_ how it was in the beginning. Prompto had left a trail of bodies in his wake, and his moods had plummeted Noct’s entire fucking territory into a spiral of depression. He’d been a mess, half-wild, playing cat-and-mouse games with Noctis. In the beginning, it’d be rough and brutal and a whole lot of dominance on Noct’s part, trying to beat Prompto into submission.

 

It’d worked. They’d _worked,_ in that dynamic, and they’d both kept coming back, and slowly this shift happened. They’d started saying stupid four-letter words that idiot mortals use, and over the years, it’s turned into something else.

 

Prompto still slips up. Hell, sometimes he has the biggest fuck ups. Noct doesn’t think it’s entirely possible for him to ever break the habit entirely. He’s fragile, in some ways, but in other ways, he’s the strongest fucking thing Noct’s ever known. He’s a strong _incubus,_ yes, and Ignis doesn’t need to be whispering that into Noct’s ear for him to know. He’s seen it. He’s suffered from it, at times. Fuck, the heavy blanket of snow outside is proof enough.

 

Prompto’s so much _more_ though.

 

“… it’s my job to be supportive,” Noctis points out. “I let you down, earlier. I… got mad.”

 

“You’re hot when you get mad,” Prompto points out, lightening the mood a little with a nudge, but his expression is thoughtful, his head tipped to the side, eyes swirling with emotion. Noctis simply watches, admires the subtle nuance of shifting expression, and he _appreciates_ how damn perfect Prompto looks.

 

“Noctis, I… I don’t _know_ where I came from.” Noct opens his mouth to point out that no incubus _really_ does. In a lot of ways, it’s similar to being mortal: who knows what their real purpose is, and the memories surrounding their creation, their ‘birth’ or whatever, are always foggy, damn near impossible. Before he can voice any of that, Prompto’s pushing on.

 

“… it’s not _like_ you, though. I… everything before we met, it’s foggy. I know I was around for a _while._ Some bad stuff happened, I _think,_ but…” Prompto shakes his head, and frowns, his lips working silently against Noct’s chest.

 

“You don’t have to worry about _any_ of that,” Noctis says, quietly. He can’t help but wonder if knowing might change things, if it might make it easier, but… Prompto has him, and Squishy. The accidents aren’t as often anymore. The weather shifts are still _happening,_ the moods still occasionally violent, but they’ve gotten a lot better since Noct’s bright idea to get the malboro. Of course, they’ve never really talked about the _real_ reason Noctis got Squishy, and they’re not talking about how close to home _this_ incident hit.

 

That doesn’t matter.

 

It works. _This_ works.

 

“I could’ve died, Noctis,” Prompto’s voice is quiet, muffled into Noct’s skin, and Noctis _hears_ the tremor, feels it vibrating through him. The ache is real, and Noctis wishes he could make it better. He wishes he could be the calm presence that Prompto needs, all the time, but it’s _impossible,_ even for a fucking daemon, someone beyond the simplistic flaws of mortality.

 

“… you didn’t, you’re the one who just said that,” Noctis points out. He’s trying to be strong. He thinks he’s failing. The fingers twined with Prompto’s squeeze, and Noctis shifts them again, gathers Prompto up into his arms and pulls him _close,_ so that they’re all pressed skin-to-skin. Squishy snuggles closer, too, a tentacle reaching out to stroke over Prompto’s cheek, the malboro offering comfort in the best way he can.

 

“I’m gonna be worthy of you, one of these days,” Noctis adds, quietly, and this time, the words _are_ a promise. They’re both fucked up. Maybe Noct’s fuck ups are more subtle, in the lazy disinterest he has in general, or the way he bottles up his emotions until they explode, until he’s wrenching such a response out of Prompto that it all escalates and explodes, as it just did. But damnit, he’ll get there.

 

Prompto’s silent for a moment. Then he manages a shaky little laugh. “Funny, cuz I was about to say the exact same thing, Noct.”

 

“Idiot,” Noctis teases, and before he can say more, Prompto’s kissing him, slow and deep, and perfect.

 

The conversation isn’t much of one, but it’s a step up from their usual ones. Funny how a couple of ancient beings, years and years of experience behind their belts, can still be so stupidly _bad_ at simple communication.

 

“I love you,” Prompto says, simply, when they part, lips still brushing together. “You… kinda give me purpose, Noct.”

 

Noctis laughs, a little breathless, and he’s gonna drag Prompto in for more of those kisses. He wants to tangle his fingers in his hair, to lovingly _worship_ those damn horns that are the right colour again, alive and perfect. He’s going to do just that, and they’ll get lost in each other again. Before that, though, Noctis says the words back, because he has to.

 

“Love you, Prom. Pretty sure incubi aren’t _supposed_ to have any great purpose, other than devouring souls.”

 

“Probably not,” Prompto agrees, with a laugh, “but in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t think I’m a normal incubus. You aren’t, either.”

 

At least _that_ much is utter fact, and there’s no denying it. Noctis doesn’t try to. Instead, he tugs Prompto in for more soft, loving kisses, celebrating the fact that they’re both still _here_ together, and he doesn’t even care that their damn pet is staring at the whole display. Hell, when Squishy sneaks a tentacle in, curling it around their wrists, Noctis can only smile.

 

They’re a family, the three of them, after all. A family.

 

That’s a new word.

 

\---

 

Eventually, Noctis falls asleep. It just _happens._ He’s exhausted, weary to the very bone from the sex, from reliving traumas he’s refusing to acknowledge, from Prompto’s goddamn near-death. Squishy stays close, until Prompto finally slips from the bed. The malboro seems torn about who to stay with, but Prompto’s mood has lightened, and he smiles and shakes his head and pets Squishy’s tentacles until the creature snuggles back in, tucked around Noct’s neck.

 

Noctis sleeps through it all.

 

He’s woken a couple of hours later by the feeling of Prompto’s fingers working inside of him.

 

Noct’s responding moan is something between pleasure and a sleepy yawn. He’d been having a nice dream, involving Prompto’s lips pressed into his, and the two of them warm and happy. A small part of Noctis wants to drift back to sleep, to fall back into the dreams, but Prompto’s three fingers are working into his ass, and they crook right into his prostate, and all hopes of sleep flutter away.

 

“Fuck,” Noctis groans, his hips lifting and thighs parting. His head tips back, and Squishy, disturbed out of his own sleep, scuttles away, falling off the edge of the bed with a _thump_ and skittering off, probably to stare at them from the shadows.

 

“Hey, sleepy,” Prompto’s voice is lazy and content. Noctis blinks his eyes open blearily, and Prompto’s face is pressed close. His eyes are bright again, flickering with color, vibrant and focused, and the horns are bright, swirling with colour.

 

“… you ate?” Noctis is having trouble making words come from his lips when he moves them. It’s half incoherent, and it’s partially because he’s tired, partially because of those goddamn fingers thrusting into his ass, making him see stars as they press _just_ right. “You should’ve – _nn –_ woken me up.”

 

Prompto laughs, and he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Noct’s lips as he twists his fingers inside, spreading Noctis open. His fingers are _wet,_ Noct realizes, slick with lubricant for once. The extra slickness feels nice, and when Prompto’s fingers splay wide open inside of him, Noctis _moans._

 

“Thought I’d let you sleep,” Prompto purrs out, dipping down for a kiss. There’s a fourth finger working into Noctis now, and it makes him hiss against the other daemon’s lips. Prompto’s the one who likes to be worked open, to feel the delicious stretch of something big working inside. For Noctis, it’s more when the mood strikes him, and _hell,_ apparently right now he’s in a certain mood.

 

“You didn’t…?” Noctis doesn’t finish the sentence, instead trailing off into another moan when Prompto’s fingers rub tiny, evil little circles right over his prostate.

 

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Prompto replies, because Noctis doesn’t _need_ to say the words. Prompto knows what he’s asking, and there’s just a hint of petulance in the words. “Don’t worry, Noct. We _just_ had that talk…”

 

Noctis knows. He had to ask, anyway, and Prompto knows that bit.

 

“I know,” Noctis mumbles, “c’mere, Prom.” And then, Noct’s curling an arm around Prompto’s neck, tugging his face down for a fierce kiss. Prompto’s vibrant, full of that _energy_ again, and Noctis revels in it. He loves the taste of Prompto, the crackle of energy that rushes through both of them when he’s indulged a little _too_ much. It’s not such a bad thing, assuming nobody dies, because Noct’s feeling exhausted and weak, and he’s more than happy to draw from Prompto like this.

 

Noct moans into Prompto’s mouth as he spreads his fingers deeper, and the constant, heavy pressure on his prostate has him bucking his hips up, his cock aching and dripping precome between their bellies. The kiss is deep, passionate, a little messy, both of them panting as Prompto pulls back, a lazy smile on his face as he nuzzles their foreheads together.

 

“You took care of me,” Prompto’s voice is low, full of affection, as he spreads little kisses over Noct’s face, starting at the corner of his lips tracing over his jaw, up over his cheeks, pausing to nuzzle in. “Wanna take care of you, too.”

 

Noctis sighs, as Prompto’s fingers work free from his ass. His fingers are rubbing teasing little circles around his stretched entrance, making Noct’s hips shift as he presses down into the touch. It feels _good,_ and Noct isn’t quite sure what Prompto has in mind, but he’s definitely interested.

 

“You could’ve let me sleep a little longer, y’know,” Noctis teases, as Prompto scoots up a bit further to press a tiny little kiss to the very tip of his nose. It’s an affectionate gesture, and there’s a moment of shared laughter, their foreheads pressing together, eyes shining, and then Prompto’s drawing back, playfully giving Noct’s thigh a slap.

 

“Oh, shut up, Noctis. You _totally_ want me,” Prompto laughs. He’s right, of course. Noctis doesn’t grace Prompto with an answer, though; he simply tugs him back down for another kiss, deeper and passionate. Prompto tastes good – he must’ve had a coffee while he was out – and he _smells_ good, too. He curls his fingers around the base of one horn, tugging, taking control of the kiss and delving his tongue into Prompto’s mouth, until he’s practically devouring him.

 

“Fuck, Noct,” Prompto shudders, as they draw apart, lips kiss-swollen, “I’m supposed to be the one making _you_ feel good.”

 

Noctis laughs. He’s still feeling terribly lazy, half-asleep, if he’s being honest, and the idea of letting Prompto do all the work is _nice._ But the memories from earlier are still with him, and Noct’s feeling protective and doting on his own, too, and fuck, he wants to _worship_ Prompto.

 

“Got an idea,” Noctis says, suddenly. His hands are drifting down Prompto’s back, settling on his hips, and he gives him a good, rough tug upward. Prompto’s used to being manhandled, and he scoots forward, taking the initiative when Noct pulls him around. There’s a bit of maneuvering and shifting and give-and-take, but they end up with Prompto straddling Noct’s stomach. Prompto’s hard too, which comes as no goddamn surprise, and Noctis looks over his lover, satisfied.

 

“You want me to ride you?” Prompto blinks, though he’s shifting, rocking his ass back against Noct’s erection. Noct’s hands are roaming, lazy and slow, as they trace down Prompto’s chest. He has a little scar over his ribs that Noctis has _noted,_ in passing, but he’s never paid a good deal of attention to. Now, he’s rubbing the pad of his forefinger over it, tracing the edges, feeling the ever-so-slightly raised skin. Scars are something that eventually fade from them entirely, too, and this one will eventually be gone, but for now, he’s going to learn it intimately.

 

The idea of Prompto on top of him, riding him into oblivion is nice, but Noctis has something different in mind. He simply tips his head, his fingers roaming further down, over the expanse of Prompto’s toned belly. He’s got another little scar, right along his hip, a perfect little imperfection that Noctis has traced over before, but that he’ll never truly tire of. He slides his fingers over it, thumbs over the bump of hipbone and draws tiny little patterns as he traces down his pelvis, slow and steady.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto’s starting to get impatient, which always makes Noct smile. Of the two of them, Prompto almost _always_ cracks first. Noct responds by gripping Prompto’s hips, and dragging him up to straddle his chest.

 

“Turn around,” Noctis says, when Prompto’s seated on his chest, his cock throbbing, close enough that Noctis could simply lean forward and take it into his mouth. He has something _very_ specific in mind, though, and Prompto opens his mouth to say something, realizes exactly what Noct’s going for, and the smile that follows is electric.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, easily swinging one leg over Noct’s chest, then the other, turning himself around, hands bracing on Noct’s stomach for balance. He doesn’t get another word in, though, because Noct’s gripping rough at his hips, dragging him back, until Prompto’s straddling his face. Prompto leans forward, bracing himself with a hand on Noct’s hip, and he’s gasping as Noct’s tongue darts.

 

Noctis loves the noises Prompto makes, when he’s like this. He loves everything about Prompto, honestly, but there’s something about being utterly _surrounded_ by him. Prompto’s thighs are trembling on either side of his face as Noctis licks a long, hot stripe over his heavy balls, back along his perineum, tongue delving into the tight ring of his ass. Prompto’s hips jerk, involuntary, and he rocks down on Noct’s face, until all he can smell, all he can breathe, all he can _taste,_ is the other incubus.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto hisses, as he ducks his own head down, drawing the tip of Noct’s cock into his throat. Noctis _moans_ his pleasure, and that must feel good, because Prompto grinds deeper onto the tongue that’s splitting him open. It’s intense and messy, the way Prompto’s cock is grinding into his chin with every rock of hips, dripping precome, his balls dragging across Noct’s face. It’s damn near suffocating, and it’s _good._

 

Prompto feels good, too, because he’s wasted no time in going down on Noctis in return. His lips are closed tight around the head of Noct’s cock, alternating between suction and heavy slides of tongue, swirling around the length of him, teasing at the leaking tip. One hand’s still gripping at Noct’s hip for purchase, but Prompto’s other hand – fingers still slick with the remnants of lube – are reaching down again, and this time, two fingers are working inside.

 

Noctis _gasps_ with that first stab to his prostate. He grips at Prompto’s thighs, pulling him closer. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, Prompto straddling his face, tongue lifted off to the side and out of the way, bent nearly double to get his own mouth bobbing on Noct’s cock, but sex is what they _do,_ and if it bothers the other incubus, he isn’t saying anything. Hell, his mouth is too full to say anything, as Prompto takes Noct’s cock deeper into his throat. His throat tightens, and Noctis makes a soft strangling noise, one that’s wet and messy, saliva trickling down his chin as Prompto’s hips jerk, as he fucks himself harder on his tongue.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto manages, drawing back a little, pressing wet, messy kisses all over the length of Noct’s shaft, paying extra attention to the weeping tip. The dull, wet brush of lips over the sensitive slit has Noctis hisses and twitching, and his tongue stabs deeper. He’s lapping at Prompto’s prostate, one hand shifting from his thigh to his ass, holding him spread open. Noct’s jaw is aching, but he’s ignoring it, ignoring everything except giving Prompto as much pleasure as possible.

 

Noctis comes first. It’s too much, when Prompto goes back down on his cock, taking him in all the way to the base, lips a tight suction around the width of him. His fingers twist and press deeper, curling upward as he fucks into him, and Noct is gasping. He wrenches his tongue free, and buries his face against Prompto’s thigh as he comes down Prompto’s throat, whole body clenched and drawn up tight. It’s all Noctis can do to arch his hips off the bed, to fuck himself against the fingers still pressing into his prostate, until Noct’s trembling and overstimulated and full of delicious, vibrant _energy_ that he’s drawn from Prompto.

 

“Prom,” Noct’s voice is slow and lazy against Prompto’s skin as he tries to remember to breathe, as he comes down. There’s still little whimpers though, and a final jerk of his hips as Prompto finally draws back, the tip of his cock slipping from his lips with a popping sound.

 

“Feels better, right?” Prompto’s voice is satisfied, though he’s trembling, and he’s achingly hard against Noct’s chin as his cock bobs there, leaking a thin strand of precome right over his lips.

 

“Yeah, now your turn,” Noctis agrees, a little weakly. His whole body’s shaking still, but he’s got enough presence of mind to tug Prompto’s hips back again, until he’s properly straddling his face. Noct’s tongue delves back inside again, licking hard and fast, as he eats Prompto out. Prompto gasps, his thighs trembling, ass rocking down in quick, frantic motions. He’s got both hands braced on Noct’s chest now, and even that hot, hard pressure against Noct’s chest feels good for his overstimulated body.

 

Noct slides one hand around Prompto’s hips and closes his fingers around his cock. He jerks in him rough, fast strokes, twisting at the tip, spreading the precome around, and it doesn’t take long. Prompto gets off on sitting on his face. Well, Prompto gets off on _anything,_ but Noct’s an enthusiastic lover, as exhausted as he is. He’s drowning in the excess energy Prompto’s brought him, and it’s all rushing through Noct’s veins like fire, making his toes curl and his hips arch as he works his tongue in those deep, wet strokes against Prompto’s inner walls.

 

Prompto comes with a wail, grinding his ass down on Noct’s face. His cock spurts messy over Noct’s chest as he jerks him off, milks him through his release, and he rides it out with a needy, frenzied pace. It’s only when Noctis finally tips his head to the side, tongue sliding out of him, panting heavily, everything _aching,_ that Prompto rolls to the side, sliding off Noct’s face with shaking thighs.

 

“Better?” Noctis asks, his words a little stiff, his face sore. He’s echoing back Prompto’s words to him, though, and they both smile. Prompto somehow finds the energy to throw an arm around Noct’s chest, ignoring the mess that he’s made, spreading it all around.

 

“… yeah. You?”

 

“Mhmm,” Noctis agrees, noncommittedly, though he feels _much_ better. He’d felt too close to death, earlier, in need of a meal, drained from putting so much of his energy into Prompto. It triggered a couple of unpleasant flashbacks, if he’s being honest with himself, though Noctis doesn’t wanna remember any of that. So he doesn’t. He pushes it all aside, and curls his arms around Prompto, and tugs him in again.

 

“You’re totally gonna sleep again, huh?” Prompto mumbles, burying his face in Noct’s neck, breathing in the scent of him.

 

“Yep,” Noctis laughs. “You wanna nap with me?” The bed shifts, as Squishy crawls back up the side, sensing that they’re doing. It’s a little disturbing, knowing that their damn malboro _watches_ them, waiting for an opportune moment to steal snuggles again, but Noctis is well-fucked and satisfied, and he doesn’t care too much.

 

Prompto’s silent, but the yawn he fails to stifle gives him away. After so much time together, they tend to pick up on each other’s bad habits. Prompto’s developed all of Noct’s soft sides, and his love for sleep is one that’s finally taking hold, after all these years. Prompto will still be the first awake, but right now he’s simply content, well fed again, and totally drained of all that excess energy.

 

“Could go for a nap,” Prompto agrees, finally, smiling into Noct’s skin as Squishy curls up against them, nestled over the bit of pillow they aren’t using.

 

Noctis brushes his fingers over Prompto’s horn, and they’re both so content, Prompto barely even shudders. “They’re bright again.” The colour’s fully returned, vibrant swirls that Noct’s so goddamn fond of. _Nobody_ has horns like Prompto does; no other incubus has colours as bright and vibrant as Prompto’s, and there’s a little protective streak bubbling up. _His._

 

“Yours are bright, too,” Prompto points out, tilting his head to bury his face in Noct’s skin. “… I don’t wanna talk about today anymore. Can we just… pretend it didn’t happen?”

 

They shouldn’t, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve swept an issue under the rug. Hell, they’ve got the rest of eternity to figure it out, so whatever.

 

“Yeah. Go to sleep. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a hint of plot and backstory in there if you squint. hmmmm~ also: i have written 50k words in 11 days and I don't know if I should be proud of this or horribly ashamed.  
> i'm on tumblr @destatree, twitter @thatdest ; numi is @numinoceur. <3  
> come scream abt this AU with us!  
> soft, absolutely perfect art is [here!!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/918319902704001024)


	13. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto fucks up and ruins everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... is angst kink a thing?
> 
> Kinktober day 12: where I just give up on kink and decide I'm writing Angstober. <3

Prompto’s doing a good job.

 

Noctis tells him that. It shouldn’t be so goddamn important to hear it, but it _is._ Nothing about how they’ve come together like this makes sense, and none of it should feel the way it does. But when Noctis _looks_ at him that way, Prompto feels a little bit less lost.

 

He doesn’t remember much of the past, before Noctis. He remembers being upset at the world. He remembers feeling like he’s chasing something. He’d been... well, _addicted_ to the rush of power he’d gotten from the hunt, from gorging himself on human souls. And then he’d ended up in Noct’s territory, and the moment Noctis had looked at him, it’d been an instant frozen in time, that sole, life-altering event that’s gonna stay with him forever.

 

It’s stupid and cliché, to find purpose in someone else’s eyes, isn’t it? But Prompto had gotten lost, and now he’s here, and he’s pretty sure _Noct_ is his purpose now.

 

So, of course, naturally, Prompto fucks it all up. Or, he sure as hell tries to, though it’s not that easy. Because, lucky for Prompto, Noct’s gotten _soft_ over the years, and he sure as hell doesn’t know how to say goodbye, either.

 

\---

 

Prompto’s in a _mood._

 

He’s always in a mood—that’s how most of these snapshots in time begin. Prompto’s got a mood, and Noct’s eager to indulge. Right now, it’s no different.

 

This time, Noct’s got his hands cuffed to the bed. Prompto _loves_ it when Noctis gives himself over, when he’s fully vulnerable. His legs are both tossed up over Prompto’s shoulders, and his ass and hips are pivoted up off the bed. The angle is rough and deep and _good,_ and Prompto’s getting lost in it.

 

Sex is a fucking _drug_ for Prompto. It’s an addiction, and right now, he’s deep in it. Noct’s writhing and gasping, hands twisting where he’s bound, the handcuffs cutting into his wrists as he strains. They’re daemons, yeah, and Noctis could _maybe_ escape if he really tried, but it’s hard to focus, not when Prompto’s fucking him into the mattress. Prompto’s snapping his hips forward, rough and hard. The room’s full of the sound of sex, of Prompto’s balls slapping into Noct’s ass, the wet sound of his cock fucking deep into him, both of them panting heavily. Noct’s fucking aching, but there’s a ring snug around the base of his cock and trapping his balls and Prompto’s decided he’s not allowed to come until he’s _done_ with torturing him.

 

“Please,” Noctis groans, and Prompto _loves_ it when he reduces Noctis to begging. It’s so nice, making _him_ lose control for once, because it seems like it’s always fucking Prompto losing it, and Noctis holding him up, keeping him going, in _so_ many ways.

 

“Yeah, you wanna?” Prompto manages a smirk, but he’s chasing his own pleasure. His fingers are gripping rough into the underside of Noct’s thighs as he pounds into him. He rolls his hips just right, tugs one of Noct’s legs higher, and there’s a stab of pleasure Prompto can fucking _feel_ it, as Noctis clenches around him, as his head tosses back, muscles in his arms straining, tendons standing out as he writhes and clenches and gasps through a fucking dry orgasm.

 

It’s the hottest goddamn thing Prompto’s ever seen. His cock pulses inside, aches for release, and he leans down. It practically bends Noctis in half, but they’re both _flexible,_ and the pleasure-pain is _good._

 

Prompto kisses Noctis harder than he’s ever fucking kissed him before. His hips are slamming in, he’s fucking into him frenzied and desperate, and he’s more than a little _lost._ It’s a mess, it’s a fucking whirlwind of sensations. It’s so much more than sex, it’s the smell of Noctis, it’s how his mouth tastes, how their tongues are curling together, both of them gasping and panting as Noct’s trying to rock his hips up, but the angle’s got him spread open and helpless.

 

Prompto almost fucking screams into Noct’s mouth when he comes inside him, filling him up, buried deep, all the way to the hilt. His hips snap and roll into it, and at some point, he manages to reach between them with scrambling, trembling fingers, to tug the cockring off him, and jerk him rough and fast, chasing Noct’s release.

 

Their lips are fastened together, and Prompto barely even acknowledges that he’s drinking Noctis in, that he’s _drawing_ from him.

 

Noctis doesn’t notice at first, either, because the pull is so familiar at this point. It’s always give-and-take, usually with Prompto more on the receiving end, always the _taker._ He’s warm and satisfied and as he jerks Noctis off between them, he’s eating the high he’s riding. Noct’s erection twitches hot and wet in his fingers, and then he’s spurting between them, and the _rush_ that Prompto gets, the euphoria of the other daemon’s orgasm, it crashes over him. It’s like warm sun on his face, it’s pure thrill, ecstasy he can’t get enough of. It’s pooling into him, filling his belly—

 

Noctis makes a _sound_ against his lips, but Prompto doesn’t notice, because he’s still milking Noct’s cock, coaxing the final bit of release from him. Their lips are mashed together still, and Prompto’s biting desperately into Noct’s bottom lip, dragging it with his teeth, tasting the first tang of blood---

 

Underneath him, Noctis is going still. His hands are struggling at the cuffs, and it’s _not_ out of pleasure this time, there’s a desperation, because Prompto’s still drinking him up, drawing his soul – if daemons even _have_ souls, but they _must –_ and the power shift is in the air, buzzing. Noct’s whining and his cock is going soft in Prompto’s hand, wet and messy with his release, and one leg falls from Prompto’s shoulder, and still he’s _lost._

 

And fuck, it’s almost too much. If Noctis hadn’t made the most _desperate,_ pathetic sound in the back of his throat, if his eyes hadn’t gone all dull and glassy, Prompto would’ve kept going. But the _noise_ brings him back into himself, just for a moment, and suddenly, he’s realizing how _bloated_ he feels, sick and gorged on Noct’s essence, and—

 

“Fuck,” Prompto pulls away, breaks the contact, and when he looks down at Noctis, the world almost fucking ends.

 

Noct’s horns are dull, and at the very tips, along the edges, there’s thin lines of black decay that are spreading over the spiraled curve, withering away into nothing.

 

“Noctis, _fuck,”_ Prompto’s voice is desperate, and there’s panic blossoming in his voice, “Noct, are you okay?! I—fuck, I didn’t _mean_ to…”

 

Noct’s eyes are a dull orange, none of their usual amber vibrancy, and they’re unfocused, unseeing. There’s an expression of dumb confusion his face, and his lips move, dry and cracked, despite being kiss-swollen, and words don’t come out.

 

 _“Prom,”_ Noctis manages, after a moment of struggling, and the word seems to take all his effort, because then his body goes slack and his eyes shut and he’s putting all his effort into breathing, half passed out. The black decay swirls on his horns, wisps of charcoal burning its way down, and Prompto doesn’t know _what_ to do.

 

Outside, there’s a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder, and _panic_ sets in.

 

In theory, Prompto knows how to fix this. It’s give-and-take, and it’s his turn to _give._ He’s full, stuffed to the brim, on Noct’s energy. He can transfer it back, he can feed it into Noctis, but _fuck,_ it’s all theory. Hundreds of years, and it’s always _Noctis_ feeding from him, more than it is Prompto offering it.

 

Prompto’s _never_ had to take the initiative; he’s never been in charge. Noctis has taken care of him, and now suddenly, he’s alone, Noctis semi-conscious, drifting in and out, the labored sound of his breathing, the sound of _pained_ gasps all that he can hear.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he can’t see, until everything’s a hot, wet blur. Prompto’s mind is spinning, and he wants to _run,_ but if he runs, Noctis is dead, and what the fuck is he without Noctis?! Before Noctis, there was nothing. Before Noctis, Prompto was a _monster,_ and fuck, he’s still a monster, isn’t he?! His belly’s churning, the energy curdling and twisting in the pit of his stomach, and Prompto feels the burn of bile retching in the back of his throat. Can daemons even get sick? He’s not sure, but he might be about to test that.

 

Prompto can’t think, he can’t breathe, instincts are kicking in, he needs to _run,_ and suddenly, outside, the temperature spikes. It’s summer, and it’s been relatively cool – Prompto _had_ been doing so much better – but now it’s hot, and the humidity is dripping in the air, and the rainclouds are gathering, and Noctis is _dying_ and—

 

This _could_ be the moment where Prompto finally gets a handle on his powers. This could be the moment where he realizes how to cut through the panic, where he realizes that he _can_ calm the desperate swell of emotion, the one that’s clouding his judgment, that’s clawing in at his mind, turning everything into a mess. But, well, it’s not. He’s shutting down, he’s desperately clawing at Noct’s chest, leaving rough red lines that his exhausted, dying body can’t even _heal,_ he’s gasping and choking and fighting back the urge to vomit, and he wants to _scream_ but all that’s coming out is a desperate ‘nonononono’, a mantra of a word that won’t do any fucking good.

 

And this would’ve been the end. Noctis would’ve died, and Prompto’s emotions would’ve drowned an entire city, maybe more—

 

But all around, Prompto’s panic is gripping people, a wave of despair and panic spiking in the area, and it’s attracted some _attention._ The front door of Noct and Prompto’s place opens – it’s locked, but friendly, supernatural presence isn’t threatened by locks – and Prompto doesn’t even register it, until he hears a voice in his ear.

 

“Prompto, _calm down.”_

Prompto jumps out of his fucking skin, because it cuts through the panic like a knife. It’s a twisting in his stomach, tearing a hole that _hurts,_ that makes him want to cry and scream, but it’s a drain, and some of the emotion ebbs away, swirling down into the mess that is this scene before him. He gasps and he chokes and he didn’t even realize he was sobbing on top of Noct’s body, but now he hears her.

 

“Who…?” Prompto whimpers.

 

“I’m a friend of Noct’s,” the voice says. It sounds strained. “I’m sure he’s talked about me. My name’s Luna.”

 

Prompto _knows_ the name. He knows about Noct’s succubus friend – and there’s been such _jealousy_ in the past when she’s mentioned – and right now, his stomach heaves again, doing flips and jolts and a sudden fresh wave of tears burns his eyes. He tries to respond, but it comes out a choked gasp, and he can’t _breathe._ He doesn’t need to breathe, of course, but his body doesn’t know that, he’s too goddamn _mortal,_ and he’s hyperventilating, gasping and clawing and when Luna curls an arm around him, he’s shoving her away, _rough._

 

“Hey, don’t you fucking touch her,” a low voice says in the background, and Prompto feels _another_ heave overwhelm him, and he swears he really _is_ going to vomit as he presses his face into Noct’s chest – fuck, he’s going cold – and closes his eyes and just hopes that he _dies._

 

“Nyx,” Luna’s voice is exhausted, shaky, but firm, and Prompto barely even registers it. “I’ve _got_ this. Don’t worry.”

 

The hand that presses into Prompto’s shoulder fucking surges through him. It’s cool, like a cold compress pressed to his feverish, aching skin, and Prompto’s first instinct is to shove her away. He wants to suffer alone, he’s going to die, Noctis is _dying,_ and it’s his fault, and nobody can help. Prompto doesn’t really understand what’s happening, all he wants to do is melt away. The windows are shaking with the fury of the storm that’s brewing outside, and it’s draining him too, but he _wants_ to drain away into nothing.

 

“Come here,” Luna says, though, and Prompto doesn’t have the energy to fight her. She’s drawing him up into his arms, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s clinging, holding on for dear life, feeling a strange almost-calm wash over him.

 

“I can’t—” Prompto doesn’t even _realize_ he’s talking, until the words tumble out, broken with a sob, full of heavy emotion, desperate and frantic, and he wishes he could _fix_ this. “I didn’t mean to— _please—”_

Incubi, as a rule, can’t feed off each other, in the traditional sense. _Sometimes,_ rarely, they find companionship in each other. That part isn’t quite so incredible. The part where Noctis and Prompto really have a symbiotic relationship? It’s dangerous, and it’s rare, and it’s been pointed out to them before. Noctis has always said it’s _meant to be,_ and funny, it’s what’s fucking killing him now. Prompto can’t dare look at Noctis. He knows he’s still _with them,_ but he’s got to be in pain. The black is working down his horns, shocking through him, turning his insides to viscous black corruption, and he’ll be gone soon. And _Prompto_ is the only one who can give him what he needs, even if this succubus is here, she can’t save him, it has to be Prompto but he doesn’t know how—

 

“Deep breaths,” Luna’s voice cuts through, crystal clear. Her fingers rake through his hair, and her lips are soft against his forehead, cool and pressing into the sheen of sweat that’s beaded on his skin. “You _can_ do this. You know how to. It’s instinct, dear Prompto.”

 

Prompto’s mind is a disjointed mess.

 

He still doesn’t know what happened, after the fact; at least, not really. There’s thoughts about how he’s lost Noctis. A world without Noct isn’t a world for him, not anymore. At some point, Prompto’s purpose changed. He never used to care about killing. Then he met Noctis, and slowly, it shifted. Sometimes, he got _upset_ when someone died… and eventually, it turned into a sense of despair, because he’s let Noctis down. And now, what will he do?

 

He’ll fade away, he’ll stop eating, and he’ll follow Noctis into whatever comes next. That’s what’s on Prompto’s thoughts, but Luna is talking, and she’s guiding his hands. Noct’s skin is cold, and his lips are trembling, and Prompto presses wet kisses there, again and again, the comforting buzz of Luna’s voice in his ear, and the emotions are _there,_ but they’re all dulled somehow, and he doesn’t know how she’s doing it, but she is.

 

It’s autopilot, it’s some part of Prompto’s mind that he doesn’t understand simply _responding_ to Luna’s words. He’s kissing Noctis, again and again, a hand curled between them, coaxing him to life again. He’s putting _everything_ into those touches, even as his mind’s in utter despair. The storm outside is horrible, rattling, drowning the city. The sound of thick pellets of ice bouncing off the roof, shattering cars and breaking windows is echoing—it’s a hundred degrees outside, and there’s _ice_ falling from the sky, and the whole world’s a mess – and Prompto’s life is in a million pieces.

 

But when Prompto draws away from the kiss, when Noct’s body responds, when he’s twitching to full life and then pulsing and then coming all over his numb fingers, there’s a quiet _gasp,_ and the black is _gone,_ and Noct’s horns are violet again, _complete,_ and his eyes are half-open, staring slackly at Prompto, _in so much pain._

 

Prompto collapses on top of Noctis, and the last thing he hears, before his body goes into shock, before he outright passes out, is Luna saying, “good, see, I _knew_ you could do it…”

 

\---

 

When Prompto wakes up, Noctis isn’t in bed. He’s not alone though. There’s a dog curled up at his side, black and white, with the _softest_ fur Prompto’s ever felt. The dog stirs, lifting his head, and licks his tongue rough and wet over Prompto’s cheek.

 

Prompto blinks blearily. _Then,_ it hits him. There’s the soft pattering of rain outside, and as the jolt of panic rips through him, the _terror,_ there’s a howl of wind.

 

“Fuck, I—” he says to nobody in particular.

 

The dog nudges his nose into Prompto’s cheek, and he stops. He takes a _deep,_ shuddering breath, and buries his face into its soft fur, and the world stops being as horrible, just for a moment.

 

“I almost killed Noctis,” Prompto’s voice is quiet, as he curls an arm around the dog. He’s not sure whose dog it is, but it must be… Luna’s? She must still be here. She’d saved Noctis. She’d showed up, and Prompto had gone _too far,_ he’d taken too much, and she’d… helped him. The details are fuzzy, and _where’s_ Noctis? Prompto can feel him – they can sense each other, by now – and he’s… weak, but he’s okay. Luna must have taken him to eat.

 

Prompto’s exhausted, and he’s hungry too, but he can’t even begin to _think_ about getting up. He snuggles up closer to the dog, and closes his eyes, and he goes back to sleep.

 

\---

 

When Prompto wakes up again, it’s to voices.

 

The dog is still there, at his side. He’s awake, watching as Prompto sits up. The rain is still going, in thick, heavy sheets on the city. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. His head hurts, and his eyes burn, and his throat aches, and Prompto feels like _shit._

 

“… going to stay…” a female voice is floating in, and Prompto doesn’t _mean_ to listen in, but he can’t quite help it. He still, and he focuses his attention, and it cuts through the panic that’s already trying to bubble up in his throat. “… we’ll move into the apartment downstairs, until you two are calmed down…”

 

Prompto blinks. That’s Luna, and she’s staying?

 

“You don’t have to,” Noctis is saying, and Prompto’s _full_ of conflicting emotion. Noctis is alive. That’s Noct’s voice, and it sounds _so good._ But at the same time, he sounds tired, and worn down, and so exhausted, and it’s another stab of guilt straight into Prompto’s gut. Fuck, he almost _killed_ Noctis. It keeps coming back, fuzzy bits and pieces, and he remembers seeing those goddamn horns of Noct’s, all twisted into something gruesome, and the panic is going to rise—

 

The dog nudges into Prompto again. He takes a deep breath and curls his fingers into the dog’s fur, and closes his eyes. Fuck, he’s a mess.

 

“I do have to,” Luna’s voice drifts through the door, “Noctis, I _know_ you think you can handle this, but that was a close call. I don’t bullshit you, Noctis, you _know_ I would never falsify something. I thought we’d lost you.”

 

“You _didn’t_ though—” Noctis says, and Prompto’s stomach churns with the ferocity, the desperation in Noct’s tone, as if he’s trying to convince _himself_ of that, more than Luna. Fuck, what has he done?

 

“No, we didn’t, because I was here,” Luna points out, “and I was only _here_ because everyone in a two mile radius had a sudden spike in emotions, and you’ve mentioned what Prompto can do. If I hadn’t been close by…”

 

Noctis doesn’t say anything, and the silence is heavy. Prompto chokes back a sob, and buries his face in the dog’s fur, and he _cries._ He hates that he’s crying, and he hates the way the wind howls in response, and how he can’t fucking get ahold of these emotions. He doesn’t _mean_ to make things happen. He doesn’t mean to kill people, or to make the weather twist and churn, it just _happens._

It never used to matter. Fuck, it never used to be this _strong,_ either. When the hell did this start going so wrong?!

 

Prompto doesn’t know how to fix it, and for the fucking first time in his life, he’s thinking that maybe if they were just _mortal,_ this wouldn’t be so fucking awful.

 

\---

 

Noct’s sitting on the couch when Prompto crawls out of bed. The dog follows him with a watchful eye. Prompto throws on a pair of shorts, but when he ventures out, Luna’s gone.

 

“… hey,” Prompto’s never felt so scared to talk. He stands in the doorway simply watching for a few minutes, before he even dares to speak. Prompto feels like his head’s going to explode. There’s a dull throb there from too many emotions bouncing around. He can barely even contain it. Noct’s horns are still duller than they should be, but they’re purple again, and _that_ is such a relief, even though Noctis looks… well. Not okay. He’s got a blanket spread over his lap and he’s playing with the edge of it.

 

And fuck, Noctis _jumps_ when Prompto talks, visibly wincing, before he manages to straighten his expression.

 

“… hey,” Noctis replies, slowly, looking down. “… didn’t know you were awake.”

 

“Yeah,” Prompto replies, and he’s not sure what the pain in his chest _is,_ but he hates it. “Where’s Luna? That’s… who was here, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis replies, dully, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. “That’s Luna. Guy with her is Nyx. They’re in that empty apartment downstairs. Left Umbra here to keep you company.”

 

Prompto tries to follow the conversation, but he _hurts,_ and it’s hard to think. Nyx. There _was_ a guy here, and Prompto had totally forgotten. Umbra… must be the dog? He doesn’t know. He wants to curl his arms around Noctis, to bury his face in his chest, but there’s _guilt_ ripping through Prompto, harder than it ever has, and the windows are rattling again, and _fuck._

 

“The apartment downstairs is empty again?” Prompto finds himself saying. A dumb response.

 

They can never manage to keep neighbours. They don’t _do_ anything, it’s just Prompto’s emotions are strong, and even his milder moods tend to affect people in extremely close proximity. Sharing a wall with a couple of incubi is problematic.

 

Noctis nods.

 

“Luna’s… not the same as us. She feeds on negative emotions. Her being around will…” Noctis shrugs, trails off, and goes silent for a moment. Prompto doesn’t know if he’s trying to pick his words carefully, or if he’s just too exhausted to figure out what he wants to say. “She’ll make it easier for you,” Noct finally settles on saying. “Her being close. It’s gonna dull your emotions.”

 

Oh. That makes sense. The rain coming down is steady, but it’s not a fucking storm outside. It explains why everything hurts, but everything’s a bit dull around the edges.

 

Prompto carefully edges to the couch, and he gingerly sits himself down next to Noctis. Noctis doesn’t move, but Prompto catches the way his shoulders draw in, the way he tenses, the slight hitch of his breath. Noctis fidgets nervously, and when Prompto carefully reaches a hand out, he _notices,_ damnit, how Noctis flinches back, just a little.

 

Prompto notices _everything,_ the way Noct’s golden eyes are still dull around the edges, or the faint discoloration of his horns, and how _weak_ and tired he looks. It’s… not like Noctis and all, and it’s terrifying. And it’s _all Prompto’s fault._

“… Noctis, I didn’t mean…” Prompto says, quietly, but he can’t finish the words. He ducks his head down, and stares at the floor, and he desperately wants to reach for Noctis, but he can’t. Instead, he buries his hand in the dog’s – Umbra’s – fur and clenches them into fists and they simply sit in silence for a while. The rain comes down fierce and heavy, and if Noctis cares that it’s pouring, that Prompto’s threatening to drown the city again, he doesn’t say anything.

 

Eventually, it gets dark out. Noctis slowly gets up, and he moves into the bedroom. Umbra curls up on the couch next to Prompto. Prompto feels _weak,_ and terrified. He debates if he should go downstairs, if he should see Luna and talk to her, but the thought of leaving Noctis… it’s _terrifying._

 

Prompto gets up and crosses the room. Noct’s lying on the edge of his half of the bed – they have _sides,_ they’re so domestic – on his side, arms curled around himself. Prompto doesn’t think he’s sleeping, but he doesn’t say anything either. He doesn’t move when Prompto settles down, the mattress shifting and adjusting to his weight.

 

“Noct…” Prompto says, quietly, as he snuggles up closer. He curls an arm around Noct’s waist, and _feels_ as Noctis suddenly tenses up, shifting closer to the edge, every muscle in his body clenching and going tight and—

 

 _Fuck._ Prompto’s chest does that awful aching thing again, and he draws his arm back, scooting back across his side of the bed. The space between them feels like an unsurmountable height, something that’s so vast and wide, that in this moment, Prompto feels so fucking alone, and so _scared._

 

He rolls over, onto his side, facing away from Noctis. Back-to-back like this, Prompto closes his eyes, and his shoulders silently shake, and his tail thrashes. He can’t control it. And if what Noctis said is true? Right now, the only reason the city isn’t being destroyed by a goddamn tornado is the fact that a succubus who feeds on negative emotions is downstairs, keeping him at bay.

 

He’s so goddamn useless.

 

Eventually, Prompto gets up, and goes to curl up on the couch with the dog again. Umbra licks the salty tears from his face, but he doesn’t feel any better at all.

 

He’s ruined _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah idk blame numi she told me i could write this and we're whores for angst.  
> [beautiful companion art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/918655455768993792)  
> twitter @thatdest; tumblr @destatree / numi @numinoceur. <3  
> see yall tomorrow.


	14. Tentacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto orders a new toy online and Noctis is skeptical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober Day 13: I missed the tentacles prompt yesterday!! D: So... today is back to smut. Tentacles, toys, size queen Prom, and bulge kink aww yiss.  
> Before anyone asks: this fic is told out of chronological order, and yes, I will be returning to yesterday's story. but y'all will have to be patient. <3

It’d started as an offhand comment Noctis made, along the lines of, “holy shit, Prompto _look at this!”_ when he’d stumbled across a particularly impressive video on the internet.

 

When you’re an incubus, you tend to… not really see the appeal in porn. Unfortunately, incubi need the actual physical act of sex, with a partner, to feed, so watching a couple of idiots go at it unrealistically on a screen does _nothing_ for them. They’ve also been around for a long time, and both Noctis and Prompto have a whole lotta kinky shit under their belts.

 

Noctis has to admit though, the video he’s found is… _intriguing._

 

Prompto pokes his head over Noct’s shoulder, and Noctis hears the way his breath quickens.

 

It’s a rather average looking dude playing with a toy. Pretty tame stuff, except this is the _biggest_ toy Noct’s ever seen. He’s pretty sure it’s impossible to take a toy that big, but it simply slides on in, and they’re both staring, a little awe-struck, at the way it sucks into Mr. Nameless Weirdo’s ass like it’s nothing.

 

“… I could do that,” Prompto says, after a moment of silence. “Noct. Fuck. If some human can do that, I _totally_ can too.”

 

Noctis isn’t so sure.

 

“I dunno, Prom. That’s… big. Like, _really_ big.”

 

Prompto rolls his eyes. “It’s not like it can kill me or anything, Noct. I’m _totally_ gonna do it.”

 

\---

 

Noctis forgets all about the incident until a few weeks later, when a package arrives. Prompto’s gleeful as he tugs on Noct’s hand, pulling him into the bedroom and getting him perched down on the edge of the bed as he rips into the package.

 

“You’re way too excited about this,” Noctis points out, and he understands why, immediately, when Prompto pulls out his prize.

 

It’s a _massive_ sparkly black dildo. It’s soft and a little wobbly, and, well, it’s not just a regular phallic-shaped one.

 

“You bought a tentacle dildo?” Noctis tips his head, frowning a little as he eyes the thing. It’s over a foot long, easily, with a tapered tip that is _still_ impressively thick, increasing in width to flare out wide and impressive at the base. It’s got an enticing little curve, and _very_ realistic suctions lining the underside, with ridged little segments. Noct has to admit, it _does_ look realistic.

 

Prompto shrugs, “I was curious. Apparently the little sucker things feel _really_ nice.”

 

Noctis sighs. Prompto is ridiculous. Of course, Prompto reaches back into the box and pulls out a bottle of lube.

 

“Look, Noct! It looks like cum! Humans are _silly!”_

 

Noctis wants to point out that Prompto’s the one _buying_ this stuff, but, well, he’s already lazily palming over the front of his pants as he settles back against the bed, his head tipped. “So, you gonna put on a show or something?”

 

Prompto’s grinning, lifting up onto his knees and tugging his pants down his hips. His cock’s already twitching to life. “Damn right I am.”

 

Noctis, honestly, doesn’t think that Prompto’s gonna pull this off. He doesn’t doubt the other incubus very often. He’s successfully shoved a fist in Prompto’s ass, after all, and Prompto _has_ taken some very impressive toys, in the past. This tentacle toy, though, is massive. It’s huge and thick and it’s gotta be the size of two of Noct’s fists at the base, at _least._

 

It’s hot as hell though, the idea of Prompto trying to work his way down onto it.

 

“You’re not gonna pull this off,” Noctis points out, sighing, as Prompto rises onto his knees. He’s worked a layer of lubricant all down the sides of the toy, and now he’s got both hands between his legs. One hand’s tugging at his cock, coaxing it fully hard, and the other’s reaching back, working three fingers into his ass, spreading the lube around. At least Prompto’s smart enough to realize that he _really_ does need lube for _this._

“Harsh! Have some faith, Noctis,” Prompto groans. His head’s tipped back, and he’s got his fingers buried into his ass all the way to the knuckle, sighing as he angles right, rocking down as he fucks himself open. His cock’s quickly growing fully hard, and Prompto gives himself another rough stroke with his free hand, dipping down to tug at his balls, then he’s lifting up more, fingers working free.

 

“I do have faith in you,” Noct replies, lazily, head tipped to the side as he watches, “but that thing is _massive,_ Prom. There’s no way.”

 

Prompto rolls his eyes and lifts up a little higher as he reaches down to hold the toy steady. It’s soft and wobbly, and the first sink of his hips doesn’t work out quite right, the toy slipping past the cleft of his ass instead.

 

“So basically, you have no faith. I’m gonna show _you,_ Noct.”

 

Noctis doesn’t bother to point out that Prompto can’t even get the tip inside. There’s a bit more shifting, Prompto adjusting his position, and then this time, when he lowers his hips over the toy, one hand reaching back to grip it by the base, the other keeping the tip steady as he presses down on it. There’s a quiet sigh, and Prompto’s head tipping back, as the textured, curved tip of the tentacles slips past his stretched rim, working inside.

 

The damn thing’s already thicker than a couple of fingers, and it must feel _really_ good, because Prompto’s shifting his hips, gasping out as he slowly lowers himself. He works down a couple of inches and has to pause, panting heavily, as the curved tip puts pressure right onto his prostate. Noctis can _tell_ it feels amazing, he knows Prompto inside and out at this point, and the hitch of breath, the low keening noise in his throat, the clench of muscle in his thighs and belly, it’s all a dead giveaway.

 

“Fuck, _Noct,”_ Prompto manages, his voice trembling a little, “you thought I couldn’t do it – nn—it feels _amazing.”_

 

“You haven’t done it, yet,” Noctis responds, a little smugly. “You’ve barely taken any of it.”

 

The toy is already stretching Prompto wide open, his rim a little swollen around the thick girth of the toy, and he’s not even halfway down yet. Noctis doesn’t _need_ to point that out, though, because Prompto’s hand is still gripping the base of it, and he’s damn well aware of how much he still has to take.

 

“Fuck off, Noctis, just _enjoy_ the show,” Prompto replies, and he tosses his head back and shudders and sinks lower down on the toy.

 

It’s a slow, steady roll of Prompto’s hips, and each time he rocks on it, he sinks a little deeper. At one point, he pauses, panting heavily and reaching for more lube, but his erection isn’t flagging at all. Hell, if anything, Prompto looks painfully hard. His free hand, the one that isn’t gripping at the toy, alternates between stroking along the curve of his hip, down his pelvis, fingers feather-light as they trace over his heavy cock, down to roll his balls in his hand. Every time Prompto lifts up a little, his cock twitches, and he’s barely holding back the heavy _moans_ that threaten to escape when he sinks back down, putting delicious pressure inside with the curve of the tentacle.

 

Prompto isn’t even all the way down when he comes, hard and messy against his belly. His fingers are teasing the head, but other than that, it’s purely from the press of the toy against his prostate. Noct’s breathing heavily, his eyes narrowed and honed in on the scene in front of him. _Fuck,_ it looks good, the way Prompto moans, his thighs shaking and his hips jerking as he makes a mess all over himself. For a moment, he steadies himself, shaking and trembling, and Noct’s pretty sure that it’s over, that Prompto’s gonna call it a day.

 

Noctis _totally_ won, cuz there’s still a couple of wide inches of the toy that he didn’t take, and he’s absolutely going to point it out.

 

“Shit, Noctis, _wow,_ feels good,” Prompto whimpers, through his release, and he grips his cock, stroking it and milking it, spurting another line of come across his belly. He’s not stopping though. Prompto lifts up, a bit of the toy slipping from his ass, and when he sinks down again, he takes another good inch or so, gasping as it _fills_ him.

 

He’s stretched so wide around the toy, it’s got to be painful. Prompto’s arching his back, lifting his ass and putting himself on display, and Noctis can see how swollen and red his rim is, wide around the thick width of the tentacle toy. The shift of his hips must feel good, too, because he gasps, and his erection perks back up again, even though he _just_ came.

 

“You’re still gonna try to take it?” Noct’s voice is casual, but his eyes are narrowed and he’s not quite breathing right and it’s _totally_ giving him away. More than that, he’s got a hand snaked into his pants now, slowly rubbing over his own hard cock, and there’s absolutely no denying that he’s shamelessly aroused by this.

 

“Damn right,” Prompto’s breath hitches, and he gasps, and he rocks his hips, a thin strand of precome oozing from the tip of his cock as he lazily curls his fingers around his half-hard cock. He sinks a little lower on the toy, taking in a bit more, groaning at the stretch. “I’m not a fuckin’ quitter, Noct.”

 

Noctis really should be questioning the safety of this, but well, they’re incubi. Ridiculous sex is kind of their thing. It _definitely_ looks painful. Prompto’s ass is gaping wide around the toy, and if he wasn’t somehow still maintaining an erection, _after_ getting off, he might be more inclined to step in. But Prompto sinks all the way down, and suddenly he’s crying out as he bottoms out against the wide, flared base of the toy.

 

Noct’s eyes are locked onto Prompto’s ass, his stretched, puffy rim pulled so tight around the thick, black silicone, it’s absolutely _obscene._ Prompto wiggles a little, moaning with the shift of the toy inside of him, with the delicious bits of pressure in all the right places. He braces a hand on the bed behind him, the other running up the length of his cock, tracing over his hip, and –

 

“Oh, shitshitshit—fuck, Noct, _look—”_ Prompto whines, and Noctis drags his eyes up, and _oh shit._

The toy’s so fucking deep and thick in Prompto’s ass, that when he leans back, hips tilting forward, tummy drawn in, Noctis can actually _see_ the bulge as it moves inside. Prompto moves his hips, and it shifts, disappearing as he draws up a little, and then when he sinks back down, it’s thick and poking out, distending his belly.

 

“Fuck, Prom, that’s—” Noctis can’t quite think of a word, honestly. “… fuck. That’s _weird.”_

 

“H-hey! I was going for hot!” Somehow, Prompto manages to sound properly offended, to even _glare,_ even as he’s got a thick silicone tentacle dildo a good twelve inches into his ass.

 

Noctis scoots forward a little and pokes the little bulge, curious as all hell. Prompto _whines,_ but it must feel good on some level, because he gasps, too, and he starts to move his hips faster, rocking down on the tentacle, practically grinding on it. His cock’s fully hard on his belly again, and Noct’s fingers itch to touch, but he gets the feeling that this is a _show_ he’s supposed to be watching, rather than touching. So he scoots back again, his hand lazily drifting back down his belly to get his pants fully down his hips.

 

Noctis curls his fingers around his cock and watches as Prompto’s back arches, as his hips gyrate in slow, circular motions, grinding down on the thick tentacle inside of him. That goddamn weird little bulge is there, and it’s oddly hot. Prompto’s eyes are watering, too, and his chest is heaving, and there’s a deep, red flush spreading across his cheeks and across his collarbone, across the spattering of freckles. His hips jerk back, and Prompto _sobs,_ and Noctis swears.

 

Fuck, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, when Prompto starts to cry, big dolloping tears streaking down his cheeks as he rocks down on the tentacle, desperate and needy. His cock twitches wet on his belly, and Prompto jerks it _hard,_ and he’s coming again, a second time, somehow harder that the first. His entire body goes rigid, muscles standing out stark, tense and needy, as he covers his belly and his chest in streaks of white.

 

 _“Noct,”_ Noct’s name comes out a mantra on Prompto’s lips, again and again, and he doesn’t stop moving. He keeps rocking his hips down onto the toy through his orgasm, and he milks his cock, dipping down to squeeze balls that are drawn so tight and close to his body. Prompto’s oversensitive and hyper stimulated and he’s gasping and shaking, but he doesn’t stop moving.

 

“You okay?” Noctis has the presence of mind to ask. He’s had to pull his hand away from his erection. His shirt’s pushed up over his belly, and his pants are bunched down around his hips. He’s got one hand fondling his balls lazily, and the other hand, his forefinger’s tracing the thick vein running along the length of his cock. If Noct starts fisting his cock, he’s gonna come, and he’s _enjoying_ the show.

 

Prompto must be fucking enjoying it too, because even though he’s sobbing, even though he can’t quite catch his breath, and he looks like he’s about to collapse, he’s still riding the toy. He lifts up, and sinks all the way down, and the damn bulge in his tummy somehow looks _bigger,_ more pronounced with how he’s gasping and writhing, and Noctis can barely fucking stand it.

 

“Fuck, Noct, feels _so_ good,” Prompto moans, tossing his head back. His thighs are quivering violently, and he can barely stay upright. Both hands move to the bed, desperately trying to keep his balance, to keep from collapsing, but he’s still grinding down on the thick tentacle inside.

 

Noct’s powers aren’t nearly as fun as Prompto’s. He can warp, and he can summon magic, from time to time, though it’s especially draining. He can draw a weapon from nothing, but he’s a lazy asshole incubus and not like he ever has to _fight._

 

Sometimes, though, Noctis can make objects move on their own, and _that_ has its fun, from time to time. Primarily, he uses it to troll Prompto.

 

Right now, Noct’s narrowing his eyes, and he’s got that _look,_ and if Prompto wasn’t so lost in his own damn pleasure, maybe he’d notice. Instead, he’s simply rolling his hips, riding the tentacle that’s buried deep into his ass, pulling it deeper. When it _shifts,_ wriggling on its own, Prompto doesn’t see it coming, and he _screams._

 

“F-fuck! Noct, is that--?!”

 

Noctis grins, because Prompto’s whole body is shaking, even more violently, and his eyes have gone all wild and needy. “Mhmm,” he says, lazily, “you like it?”

 

“Do it again,” Prompto manages, gasping, and there’s an urgency in his voice that’s _really_ fucking hot, “please.”

 

Noctis curls his fingers around his own cock again, and this time, he’s stroking himself base-to-tip with long, steady jerks of his wrist. He twists at the tip, smears the precome beading, and keeps his eyes locked onto Prompto. The tip of the toy’s wriggling inside, manipulated by the evil pull of Noct’s mind, and it’s reduced Prompto into an absolute _mess._

 

There’s no other word for it. Prompto’s crying freely now, tears streaking down his cheeks. He’s gasping for breath, taking in desperate, needy gulps, but it’s not enough. Noct’s not sure how he’s even managing to stay upright, because he’s grasping frantically at the blankets on the bed, trembling and shaking and half collapsed. His eyes are all glossy and blissed out, and his tail’s twitching, resting heavily against his thigh, unable to keep still.

 

Prompto’s third orgasm is a dry one, and he screams, his cock jumping and twitching and leaking a sticky line of precome, but nothing’s coming out, he’s milked fully empty. Incubi are damn well capable of multiples, but Noct’s _never_ seen Prompto come so fast, and in such rapid succession. He’s not stopping, either, crying and tugging at his cock, his balls so tight, ass stretched so wide as he desperately grinds down on the toy that’s squirming relentless against his prostate.

 

When the fourth orgasm hits, only moments later – or maybe Prompto never even _stops_ coming, maybe he’s at that point where the pleasure is so overwhelming and mindless, he can’t escape it – Noctis comes, too, with a heavy twist at the head of his cock. Noct’s own release washes over him, blissful euphoria as he spurts on his belly, his other hand still tugging at his balls, and slowly, gasping, he relaxes back against the bed.

 

Prompto _finally_ stops moving, and it’s more out of sheer exhaustion than wanting it to end. He collapses backwards, rolling back, the thick end of the tentacle still pressed all the way to the hilt into his stretched, swollen ass. His whole body’s trembling and shaking, and Prompto still can’t seem to figure out how to breathe.

 

“Noct…” he manages, when Noctis wipes his hand off on the sheets and crawls over to settle on his side, next to Prompto. The toy’s pushed all the way inside, and stretched out like this, his tummy sinking in a little, Noctis can trace the goddamn outline of it, still. He does it with a feather-light touch of his finger, running over Prompto’s slick skin, messy with semen and sweat, and Prompto squirms and whines and his softening cock twitches.

 

“Guess you managed to take it,” Noctis admits, with a quick laugh, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek into Prompto’s. “… I stand corrected.”

 

“Damn right. Should’ve had faith, Noct.”

 

Prompto laughs weakly, and he stays like that for a moment, while he comes down, still riding out the final, tingly afterglows of the sex. Slowly, he shifts a hand down – after wiping it dry on the blanket – and grasps the base of the toy, and gives it a tug.

 

Except, the toy doesn’t move.

 

Prompto’s breath hitches, and not for a good reason, and his brow furrows, and he shifts his hips a little, trying to tug away from the toy. His body gives out though, and he goes limp against the bed, and Prompto’s outright frowning now.

 

“Uh, Noct, I, _um.”_

 

Noctis watches, and realization dawns across his face. “… no fucking way, Prom, is it _stuck?”_

 

Prompto groans, and turns his head to the side, burying his cheek against the blankets. “I… think so. Help me, Noctis! I can’t get it out!”

 

“I _told_ you that toy was too big!” Noctis can’t help it, and he knows a well-timed _I told you so!_ Absolutely isn’t going to help, but… well. He did tell Prompto that. “… you _better_ know how much I love you, right? You’re asking me to help you get a _dildo out of your ass!”_

 

Prompto whines. “Noctis! You’re not helping! I’m gonna make it rain!”

 

Fuck. Noctis sighs, and he sits up, reaching down between Prompto’s legs to get a good grip of the toy. The base is slippery with lube, and it’s not helping his grip, and his fingers slip and slide a little. “Holy shit, Prom, it’s _really_ wedged up there. I dunno if I can get it out, maybe we should go to the hospital—”

 

“Noctis!” Prompto’s voice is taking on a panicky quality, and off in the distance, Noctis really _does_ hear thunder. Great. The last thing he needs is for the entire damn city to blow away because Prompto’s eyes were bigger than his asshole, and he got a tentacle wedged inside of him. “You’re not helping!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Noctis grits his teeth. He wipes his hand off on the bed – they can change the sheets later – and tries to get a better grip on the flared base of the toy. There’s not nearly enough to hold onto, and Prompto hisses when Noct’s fingers press against the swollen rim of his ass. “What _will_ help? I’m gonna try, Prom, but it’s kinda stuck…”

 

Prompto groans. “ _Telling_ me how stuck it is only makes things worse!”

 

Noctis rolls his eyes. He gives another tug, but he _really_ doesn’t wanna hurt Prompto. “Well then what makes it _better?!”_

Prompto whimpers, a pained little sound that Noctis does not like. “… put the doctor’s coat on? And the gloves?”

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Noctis grumbles. He knows Prompto isn’t.

 

“And the beard thing, too. The beard is hot. If you’re gonna threaten to take me to a doctor, you might as well dress like one!”

 

Noctis feels the need to argue about how _ridiculous_ this whole situation is, but the rain’s starting outside, and Prompto’s whining in pain, and he looks about ready to cry again, and okay, that thing really _is_ massive and it’s got to hurt. Even for an incubus, it’s… well, more than anyone’s designed to take.

 

“I don’t even _know_ where that stuff is, Prom,” Noctis points out, reaching for the lube. He gets a generous amount of it coating his fingers, and gently works it around the base of the toy. It’d probably be easier if he could get some _inside,_ too, but there’s not really any room for anything else to fit inside. Fuck.

 

The toy wriggles a little, but it’s really firmly jammed up there, and it’s _not_ coming out.

 

“Prom, you’re _clenching,_ you need to relax!” Noctis sighs, as he tries to ease some of the lube around Prompto’s stretched ass. Prompto hisses, clenching down even _more_ at the sensation.

 

“Noct! It’s cold! Warm it up first! And you try not to clench with a giant _tentacle_ in your ass!”

 

Noctis is very proud of himself for biting back the urge to point out that Prompto’s the one who _put_ it in his ass in the first place, and that he’d been pointing out the whole time that it was a bad idea. Well, except for the part where Noctis got off on watching it. He hadn’t been complaining then. He’s paying for it now, though, perched between Prompto’s thighs, trying to get the toy out of him. This would be easier if Prompto was on his hands and knees, he’s pretty sure, but Noct’s not about to try and move him, either.

 

“Okay, _sorry,”_ Noctis says, with a shake of his head, “damn, Prom, this thing is _massive._ Sex is gonna be like a hotdog in a hallway after this—”

 

 _“Noctis! Not helping!”_ Prompto wails, but the distraction seems to help, because the toy wiggles a _little._

 

“Okay, focus on being pissed off at me, then,” Noctis replies, because at least that’s some sort of a distraction. He’s still trying to pry the toy out, ignoring the fact that the rain is coming down harder now, or that Prompto’s back to making those pained noises. His free hand’s rubbing at the tense muscle of Prompto’s inner thigh, trying to relax him, and that seems to help too, because the toy lodges a little looser.

 

“I _am_ pissed off at you!” Prompto whines, “you’re the one who started making it move! That’s why it got stuck!”

 

“Your four orgasms weren’t complaining,” Noctis replies. “And move your tail out of the way!” Prompto’s tail is swishing in agitation and it keeps knocking his fingers away, ruining his grip. Prompto makes an annoyed sound, but he twitches his tail to the side, and that helps. Noctis winces, his fingers cramping a little as he puts pressure on the base of the toy, wiggling it back and forth, easing it a little more. The toy slips, and slides out a bit further, and _finally,_ he seems to get it lodged free. Prompto’s ass sticks around the dip of one of the tentacle’s ‘sections’, but another careful tug and it’s slipping lose, and then the giant toy is sliding out in a wet mess of sticky white lube. Yep, the sheets are absolutely destroyed.

 

“You just _had_ to get the ‘realistic’ lube, didn’t you?” Noctis grumbles. His fingers are white and slick with lube that’s intended to resemble ‘dragon cum,’ – why they’d _want_ to be anywhere near dragon semen, Noct’s not sure – and Prompto’s ass is… well. It looks painful. There’s a good deal of red swelling and the lighting is dimmed, but Noct’s pretty sure there’s _blood,_ and that’s not entirely good.

 

“It seemed like a good idea,” Prompto groans. He shifts, and tries to sit up, _whimpers,_ and immediately slides back down. “Noctis, this _hurts._ Why does it hurt?! Sex isn’t supposed to hurt!”

 

“Guess even we have our limits,” Noctis points out. He shoves the toy away, making a mental note to clean it later, and wipes his hands off and leans over Prompto again. He’s careful not to shift him, as he presses a gentle kiss into Prompto’s forehead. The other daemon’s covered in a cold sweat, and he’s _trembling,_ and it’s absolutely not from pleasure. “… on the bright side, your ass can totally take all three of my fists now!”

 

“You don’t _have_ three fists—” Prompto starts to point out, and then he groans, ”Noctis! You’re being an asshole!”

 

“Dunno, you’ve got a big enough asshole for both of us now,” Noctis replies, smartly, and Prompto makes a pathetic noise.

 

“Stop, Noct! It’s… fuck, it’s not gonna _stay_ like that, is it?!”

 

Noct’s pretty sure it’s not, because now that the toy is gone, Prompto’s not quite so gaping wide and open anymore. Sure, he still looks sore and swollen and miserable, but it’s not _that_ bad. Objectively speaking, it could be a lot worse. If he was mortal, he’d probably tear something and bleed out. Noct has vague, horrific memories of a video of a guy with a horse, and yea—nope. Not that bad.

 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Noctis shrugs, “like I said. Hotdog. Hallway.”

 

“ _Noctis!”_ Prompto whines.

 

Noctis laughs a little, but Prompto’s expression looks _miserable,_ and he can’t help but feel bad. Goddamnit, Noctis has gotten soft over the years. He sighs, and he’s gently easing up again, curling an arm gently over Prompto’s waist, and nuzzling into his cheek.

 

“… hey, you’re okay, right? You want a bath and some painkillers?”

 

Prompto makes a pathetic sound, but he nods. “... yeah,” he agrees. “Bath sounds good. The bubbles?”

 

Noctis gently untangles. If there was ever any proof that they really _have_ gone domestic, it’s the fact that he’s heading into the bathroom and getting a hot bath running. He also takes the time to inspect the labels on the back of the bottle of bubblebath to make sure that it’s not going to be harsh against Prompto’s poor, stretched ass. And hell, Noctis can’t even be ashamed of it.

 

Once the water’s filled up the side of the tub, and there’s a thick layer of soft foam bubbling at the surface, Noctis heads back into the bedroom. Prompto’s still sprawled on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and Noct gets the distinct feeling that it hurts too much to move.

 

“Think you can walk?” Noctis asks, and he already knows the answer. In response, Prompto lifts up his arms, offering up a pathetic little smile.

 

“Carry me?”

 

Noctis should maybe point out that they’re _incubi_ and having a domestic cuddle session after a terrible sex idea gone horribly wrong is _not_ what they should be doing. But, of course, he’s dipping down, gathering Prompto up into his arms, princess-style, with Prompto whining and shifting and looping his arms around Noct’s neck.

 

“It _hurts,”_ Prompto groans, burying his face into Noct’s shoulder, and Noctis is doing his best to be careful, but he has to _walk,_ and that means Prompto’s getting jostled around a little, and it’s just a fact that there’s gonna be pain.

 

“I know, c’mon,” Noctis sighs, and Prompto winces when he gets them both settled in the tub, too, the hot water rushing over sore, aching flesh and torn muscle. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” Incubi heal fast, and really, Prompto should _already_ be healing, but that’s something else Noct doesn’t say. Instead, he’s leaning back against the edge of the tub, Prompto’s back pressed into his chest, and he’s laying soft, wet kisses over Prompto’s skin. He works a line of lazy kisses along the back of his neck, chasing his hairline, and down one shoulder, fingers working slow and lazy circles under the water to clean the mess off Prompto’s belly.

 

“Feels… a little better,” Prompto admits, quietly, shifting just a little under the water, and he’s still wincing, but the pained little noises have stopped. Prompto’s head tips back onto Noct’s shoulder, his hair sticky with sweat and damp from the steam rising from the water, but he makes himself comfortable in the crook of Noct’s neck and shoulder and nuzzles in.

 

“You’re gonna have to sleep it off,” Noctis says, quietly. He’s being careful not to move around, because the last thing he wants is to hurt Prompto anymore. He’s nuzzling his cheek into the curve of Prompto’s horn – making him shiver and _smile_ and make happy sounds, instead of pained ones – and stroking over his belly and down to squeeze at his hip.

 

“Mmm,” Prompto agrees, “… thanks, Noct. For only being _kind_ of a jerk about it.”

 

Noctis can’t help but laugh a little, shaking his head, and he’s absolutely rolling his eyes. “Once you feel better, I’m _never_ letting you live this down.”

 

“I’ll take it better next time,” Prompto promises, stifling a yawn, “just you wait for part two. Gonna be _good.”_

 

“Maybe you should work up to part two,” Noctis points out, but Prompto doesn’t respond, simply making a grumpy, sleepy noise as he burrows his face into Noct’s neck and drifts off.

 

Noctis waits until the water’s cooled significantly before he bothers to move Prompto. He lifts him up with ease, and tucks a towel around his sleeping, idiot boyfriend as best as he can, without waking him up. Prompto’s out cold, exhausted and tired and shivering from the experience, but he grumbles and makes pained noises as Noctis gets him into the bed.

 

Noct’s terrible, too. He’s absolutely, hopelessly in love, playing the perfect doting daemon boyfriend, propping Prompto up and getting some painkillers into him, before he gets him all tucked up warm under the blankets. The sheets will have to be changed later, and the messy toy is totally thrown into the sink and rinsed off, to be properly cleaned in the morning.

 

Noct doesn’t even complain when Squishy finally reappears. The malboro seems to have _finally_ figured out the ‘don’t stare during sex’ courtesy, but he’s happy to curl up at Prompto’s shoulder, a tentacle slithering down over his chest. Outside, the rain slows to a lazy, autumn drizzle.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Noctis mumbles, affectionately, as he keeps watch over Prompto, as he sleeps, a little fitfully. “But you’re my idiot.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, he bought a bad dragon ika. and yes, i may have purchased one too in the process of researching this fic. damnit. 
> 
> i'm on twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree; numi is @numinoceur. check out her artwork [here!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/919090827770544129) :D
> 
> thanks for indulging us, see y'all tomorrow.


	15. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto tries to fix things with Noctis. It's not working very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober Day 14!  
> This is a direct sequel to Day 12, aka the day that Prompto almost killed Noctis. :D  
> So basically, we're back to angst kink. There's some masturbation too, but mostly it's just sadness here.  
> [Art for today!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/919445016463814657)

Prompto expects things to go back to normal after a little while.

 

That’s what Luna tells him, at least. She places a hand on his shoulder, and Prompto fights off the overwhelming urge to shove her away. Luna’s presence _helps,_ and Prompto hates how it makes his emotions feel just a little more manageable. It takes off some of the edge. It mutes the angry, confused, terrified feelings, enough that it doesn’t feel like it’s going to overwhelm him.

 

“Noctis has been through an experience,” Luna says, lightly, squeezing his shoulder. “You’ve just got to give him time, Prompto.”

 

Prompto’s never been patient, but he doesn’t have much of a choice here. He’s powerless to fix this. He simply nods, and looks away. The weather’s been miserable for the entire week now. It’s been foggy and cold and grey and drab, with the occasional wet, icy drizzle. No outright storms, because _Luna,_ but it’s not nice, either.

 

“… how long does he need?” Prompto asks quietly, but Luna merely shrugs.

 

“That’s up to Noctis,” she admits, “I know how you feel, Prompto. I’m not easy to deal with, either. Nyx is a saint.”

 

Prompto _wants_ to fight. He hates that Noctis and Luna are friends, and he doesn’t even know _why._ She’s a beautiful creature, and she’s got her own life, with Pryna and Umbra and Nyx. She’s dropped her life for him, to stay here. Sure, she’s feeding off the negative energy he’s emanating, turning everyone’s moods sour for miles, but she’s doing it as a favour to Noctis. There will never be a shortage of depressed people for Luna to feed on, after all.

 

He just wishes he wasn’t so angry. It’s not even the all-encompassing, dark rage, either. It’s slow and simmering and enough to _always_ be on his mind, but he can’t even properly feel things with Luna here. It’s a total fucking mess.

 

“I hate this,” Prompto admits, pulling away from Luna, arms wrapping around himself, as Prompto sits down. Noctis is out hunting, _alone,_ without him, and that’s something he hasn’t done in _years,_ in so goddamn long that Prompto can’t even remember the last time this happened.

 

“I know,” Luna says, “… would you like to talk?”

 

“No,” Prompto’s response is instant, and final. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants _Noctis._

\---

 

Prompto isn’t sleeping well. He knows Noctis isn’t, either, and that’s rare, because Noct is always sleeping. He’s normally a bratty, lazy mess of an incubus, content to laze in bed and force Prompto to find _creative_ ways to wake him up. Now though? There’s so much space between them. Noct’s been curled up on his side of the bed, and he still flinches every time Prompto reaches for him. Prompto’s given up, and he tucks his knees up to his chest and tries to ignore the hole in his chest, whenever he crawls into bed. Mostly, though, he’s just stopped sleeping. He naps on the couch, and pretends that he’s comfortable. It’s easier when one of Luna’s dogs is around.

 

Prompto swears, Luna’s got Umbra and Pryna on ‘shifts’ to take care of him. They help, though.

 

But fuck, he misses Noctis.

 

Noctis hasn’t physically gone anywhere. But it’s all _different._

“Do you want me to leave?” Prompto finally asks, one day. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and there’s sleet falling wet and icy from the grey sky. Prompto’s well aware that it’s his fault the weather’s like this. It’s been three weeks now. Three fucking weeks of Noctis pushing him away, and three weeks of Prompto going insane. Three weeks is really only the blink of an eye in incubus time. They’ve had _centuries_ together. This, though? It’s been the longest time they’ve ever argued. Is this even an argument? It’s a mostly silent coexistence, and that’s arguably worse.

 

Noct’s just stumbled out of bed. Prompto wants to try and ignore Noct’s presence as he shuffles into the kitchen and rummages through the fridge, but he just _can’t._ He looks over his shoulder, and Noctis looks as worn down as Prompto _feels._ His hair’s a disheveled mess, and his shoulders are slumped. Prompto’s breath catches in his throat, and he regrets saying anything.

 

Noctis pulls a soda out of the fridge, and slowly turns. His eyes look weary, dark circles under them, cheeks sunken in. He sighs, and shakes his head, and Prompto thinks, for a moment, that Noct might just ignore him.

 

“… no,” Noctis says slowly. “Don’t go.”

 

Prompto doesn’t know what kind of response he’d expected. Maybe he’d wanted Noctis to tell him to get out. Maybe he wanted him to yell and scream. Instead, he gets a quiet ‘no,’ and Prompto’s heart? It fucking breaks even more. He _wants_ to leave. In the past, he wouldn’t have hesitated to run. Hell, he has a feeling that next fucking fight they get into, he’ll be out of the door in a heartbeat, too. The flight instinct is _strong._ This isn’t a fight, though. It’s just a… _thing._ It’s Prompto’s heart breaking a little bit at a time.

 

“Why are things like this?” Prompto finds himself asking. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer. Hell, he doesn’t know if Noct even _has_ the answer. “… are you mad at me?”

 

Noctis hesitates. He sighs, and he cracks open his soda and takes a long swig from it. Prompto simply watches, turned around on the couch, his chin propped up on the back cushion. Slowly, Noctis approaches. He sits down on the edge of the couch, on the opposite side, and again, there’s all that space between them.

 

Prompto desperately wants to close the distance between them. He’s touch-starved and desperate and _scared,_ but more than that, Noct’s talking, and he doesn’t wanna chase him off.

 

“… I’m not mad,” Noctis says, quietly. Prompto doesn’t miss the tiny little hitch in his voice, the way the words break just a little. Fuck, it _hurts._ “I… don’t know, Prom. I don’t even _remember_ much of it, honestly, but I’m all fucked up over it. I don’t feel very much like myself at all anymore.”

 

Incubi aren’t supposed to feel any of this. Prompto’s fairly certain of that. He knows that before Noctis, things were a mess, and maybe they weren’t supposed to be like _that,_ either, but there should be a happy middle ground, right? Incubi don’t get all hung up on weird, mortal emotions. They aren’t supposed to fall in love, and they aren’t supposed to get _hurt,_ in this strange way. It’s not physical pain, but it’s so intense and terrible that honestly, it might as well be.

 

“I’m sorry,” Prompto admits, quietly. He hates apologizing. He _knows_ he needs to, though. He knows he fucked up here, and he’s had three weeks to reflect on that. Prompto spins around and snuggles himself back against the side of the couch. The urge to crawl over to Noctis is almost overwhelming. He wants to tug him into his arms, to hold him and tell him over and over again that he’s so fucking sorry, but Noct’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, so goddamn warily, that Prompto can’t bring himself to risk the rejection.

 

Everything about Noct’s body language just _hurts._ He’s perched on the very edge of the couch, arms hanging over his knees, eyes downcast. His hair’s falling over his face, obscuring his expression, and Noct’s doing nothing to push it aside. Every time he casts a little side glance in Prompto’s direction, he shifts uncomfortably, and Prompto gets the feeling that Noctis is just… not happy with him here.

 

It’d be so much easier if he leaves.

 

“I’m sorry, too,” Noct says, softly, “… and I wish words were enough, Prom. I don’t _want_ it to be like this. It just… it _is.”_

 

“Let me go, then,” Prompto replies, and there’s venom and hurt in his voice; he can’t quite mask it. “Let me leave, Noctis, you’ll be better with me gone.”

 

Noctis shakes his head. “Running has _never_ fixed anything. I…” he sighs, a little helpless.

 

Prompto can’t bear to look at Noctis any longer. He stares down at the floor. His tail flops helplessly at his side, and he knows that Noctis has a point. Running has _always_ just made things worse for them both. If he leaves, and Luna isn’t around to diffuse the situation—well, fuck. Prompto loves Noctis too much for his emotions to tear the city to ruins. He _loves_ too goddamn much, damnit. He feels everything way too much.

 

“What can I do?” Prompto asks. He sounds helpless. He hates sounding helpless.

 

Noctis sighs again. “Just give me time.”

 

\---

 

Prompto’s really doing his best. He _is._ That’s the goddamn story of his existence, at this point: he tries, so fucking hard, and he still messes up. His hunting has lost the appeal. Luna’s sticking close by, and taming his emotions that eating becomes a joyless necessity. A couple of times, Prompto wanders out of range, and the fury and the rage and everything _bursts._ Today, he fucks up again. He kills someone by mistake, and he doesn’t tell Noctis, but Noct always _knows,_ and the look he gives Prompto, from across the room, breaks him into a thousand pieces all over again.

 

That night, even with Luna nearby, the storm rages hard and thunder roars and lightning threatens to crack the sky into fractured pieces. Prompto can’t sleep. He rolls onto his stomach and tugs a pillow over his head, and tries to blur the world out.

 

There’s a shift of the bed, and Prompto doesn’t look up, because he can’t bear to see his side empty. Instead, though, a hand brushes over his back, gentle and tentative, but it’s _Noct’s_ touch. Prompto’s first instinct is to roll over and wrap his arms around Noctis tightly, to _never_ let go, but he’s terrified. He doesn’t want to scare him away.

 

It’s the first real contact they’ve made in weeks, though, and Prompto can’t hold back the quiet little sob that escapes, muffled by the pillow, but very audible.

 

Noct’s fingers, carefully working along his spine, hesitate, and then he draws back.

 

“Prom…” Noctis says, in a strange voice, and then the bed shifts as he rolls over. When Prompto dares to peek his head back out from under the pillow, Noctis is back on his side, staring away from him, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep, and Prompto wants to feel relieved that maybe this is progress, but instead he just hurts. His skin tingles, where Noctis had touched him.

 

Prompto can’t help it. He scoots closer, and he reaches out, carefully stroking his fingers through Noct’s hair. Noctis jumps, and his breath catches, and the _noise_ he makes is horrible and terrifying. Prompto has a sudden flashback to Noctis unconscious and barely breathing, his horns twisting and melting away into wisps of black decay and—

 

“Sorry,” Prompto says. He pulls away.

 

 _Sorry_ is starting to lose its meaning, honestly, and Prompto doesn’t know what to do anymore.

 

\---

 

Prompto doesn’t mean to be jealous of Luna. He really doesn’t. She’s a kind person. Prompto _really_ likes her dogs. He’s wary of her boyfriend, a more traditional incubus named Nyx, though. Nyx doesn’t seem to have any issues with killing when the mood strikes him, and he’s got vague tales of grandeur, about slaying daemons who deserve it, but Prompto doesn’t really listen. He seems to care a lot about Luna, but the whole thing is a jumbled mess in Prompto’s brain. He doesn’t really know _why_ things are happening the way they’re happening, they simply just _are._

So, when Prompto comes inside, and Luna’s sitting on the couch, deep in discussion with Noctis, Prompto doesn’t _mean_ for the rain to suddenly wail on the windows, or for the harsh gust of wind to make the place shake. It’s just… he’s been trying to get Noctis to talk for _weeks,_ and nothing.

 

Noctis goes silent when Prompto comes in. Luna’s got a _hand_ on Noct’s shoulder, and Noctis isn’t pushing her away, and Prompto just can’t fucking help it. His eyes go wide, and there’s bitter tears brimming, and he swears, even Luna can’t hold back the sudden floodgate of emotion.

 

But Luna’s not there alone. Someone’s giving Prompto a gentle shove, elbowing into his chest, and Prompto _almost_ glares and shoves Nyx away, but he doesn’t. Something stops him, a look in the other incubus’s eyes, maybe.

 

“Leave ‘em,” Nyx says, “c’mon. Gotta admit, this mortal food thing is kinda growing on me. There a good pizza place around here?”

 

Prompto’s mind is spinning. Nyx has never paid him much attention at all, but _hell,_ he’s touch starved, and even the gentle nudge is somehow calming. Luna’s presence helps, too.

 

“Best place only does delivery,” Prompto replies, slowly. Noct’s got a weakness for pizza, too, and the messy food has absolutely grown on Prompto, too.

 

“Cool. We’ve set up camp in the apartment downstairs. Bet the dogs will love us forever if we share pizza. Come with me? Let Luna talk it out with the idiot.”

 

Prompto opens his mouth to say that Noctis is _not_ an idiot, but Nyx’s got an easy smile, and something about his personality puts him at ease. Nyx isn’t _scared_ of him. Hell, the look he’s offering up is one that’s vaguely understanding, and that’s a nice change.

 

“Okay,” Prompto agrees. Luna waves as they head to the door, and Noctis, with some hesitation, offers Prompto a shy smile and a casual lift of his hand.

 

It makes Prompto’s heart soar a little, and a bit of the jealous ebbs away. Just a little.

 

He and Nyx have pretty opposite tastes in pizza, so they order a couple of them. They can share with the dogs, anyway. They’ve done a decent job of decorating the apartment below, probably entirely thanks to Luna working magic everywhere she goes. The couch is comfortable, and Umbra and Pryna both nuzzle into Prompto’s hand and curl up close by. The dogs’ presence calms him – it always does – and that makes it a little easier to breathe.

 

Nyx settles down onto the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table as they wait for the food. Prompto curls up into a ball and runs his fingers through Pryna’s fur and tries to stay calm, even though his mind is racing. He wonders if Noct’s telling Luna that it’s done—if he’ll go back upstairs, and Noctis really _will_ ask him to leave.

 

“What am I doing wrong?!”

 

Prompto doesn’t mean to blurt out a confession, that’s for fucking sure. He barely even knows Nyx as anything more than ‘Luna’s boyfriend,’ but hell, he’s been bottling it up. It can’t be that good, right, to keep it bottled? Luna always looks so exhausted, being around him, and Prompto just wants Noctis to _talk_ to him for once. So now, here, the words are coming out, faster than he can hold them back.

 

Nyx shrugs.

 

“Honestly? You’re just different. Like Luna. She’s different, too. So, I get it.”

 

Prompto frowns, and chews on his lip, that damned mortal bad habit he picked up from Noctis. Luna is different, yes, he’s gathered _that_ much. That’s where the similarities end, though. Luna’s differences are starkly, well, different, from Prompto’s. She feeds on negative emotion. She causes the people around her to be _happier._ Prompto’s problem is quite the opposite effect, all stormclouds and bad moods.

 

“Luna doesn’t destroy cities when she gets pissed,” Prompto points out. His fingers tangle into Pryna’s fur, and the dog lifts her head, settling it on top of Prompto’s thigh. He’s appreciative for the warmth and the comfort.

 

Nyx laughs, and shakes his head, “you haven’t seen very much of Luna then. You know what eating too many bad moods does to a person?! She can be _crazy._ I’m the one who deals with that.”

 

Prompto can’t see it. Of course, he can’t see anything, really, beyond the immediate reality where Noctis is pissed off at him and the world feels like it’s fucking crashing down around them. Nyx isn’t the type of guy who’s about to tell a lie, though. He’s sincere, that much is _obvious._ Maybe a bit abrasive, definitely with a good amount of sarcasm in him, but… Nyx isn’t about to tell Prompto a lie just to make him feel better.

 

“… I didn’t know,” Prompto admits, quietly, “… she must be good at controlling it.”

 

Nyx shrugs. “She has her days. It’s never gonna be perfect, y’know. It’s in our nature to be assholes sometimes.” He laughs again, and for some reason, the sound lifts Prompto’s spirits a little. It’s nice to have a conversation with someone who… inherently, on some basic level, seems to really _understand._

 

“I try pretty hard to _not_ be an asshole,” Prompto replies, thoughtfully.

 

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Nyx points out. “Can’t fight who you are. Sometimes I wanna kill something, so I channel it into something productive. I fight the fuckers who deserve it. Keep Luna safe – not that she _really_ needs it – and it makes everything else easy.”

 

Prompto’s never thought of it that way. “… so you’re telling me to accept it?”

 

He’s not sure that drowning an entire city and possibly making several thousand people commit suicide is any sort of proper way to handle this. Prompto’s also pretty sure that eventually, Luna’s going to get exhausted with his mood. There’s no way this is a permanent situation. And it’s not only Prompto’s insecurities telling him that; he’d overheard Luna saying as much, on a couple of occasions.

 

“I’m telling you to stop wasting energy trying to change the things you can’t,” Nyx replies. The doorbell rings, and he climbs off the couch to get the pizza. Prompto mulls that thought over as he watches the other incubus get the pizza, offering a casual grin and a subtle bit of flirting with the poor delivery guy. The pizza smells fantastic as he returns – damnit, mortals are idiots with such short, fleeting lives, but they _do_ get some things right – and Nyx sets the boxes down on the coffee table.

 

“What should I focus on, then?” Prompto asks slowly. It seems like the right thing to ask. Nyx grins wolfishly, clearly pleased with the question, as he pops open one of the pizza boxes and pulls out a slice.

 

“ _Now_ we’re getting somewhere. Proud of you!” Nyx pauses, taking a bite of the pizza. “So. What coping mechanisms do you and Noctis use?”

 

Prompto thinks that one over. He’s silent for a while, but the other incubus doesn’t press. He goes in for a slice of his own pizza – offering one to each of the dogs, because he’s a sucker – and chews on it thoughtfully. It’s a damn good thing they can shapeshift and adjust their appearances as needed, because Prompto’s _totally_ picked up on Noct’s eating habits. And hell, Prompto’s just a goddamn nervous eater in general, whether it’s sex or mortal food that’s entirely for pure selfish pleasure. He’d absolutely be fat if he was a human.

 

“I dunno. Just… _Noctis_ helps,” Prompto admits, laughing a little helplessly. “I know it sounds dumb, but… being around him is good.”

 

“Guess that’s a starting point,” Nyx replies, “but you’re honestly telling me that idiot doesn’t actually _have_ anything to help you cope? Breathing exercises? Strategies?”

 

Prompto frowns. “… uh, I guess sex helps?”

 

Nyx rolls his eyes and makes a _sound,_ and shakes his head. “Noctis is a fuckin’ idiot. No wonder you keep messing up, Prompto, this isn’t on you.”

 

There’s a sudden urge to _fight_ the other incubus. Even if things with Noctis aren’t good right now, even if Prompto’s all fucked up about it, nobody’s allowed to insult Noctis. It’s because of Noct, after all, that Prompto’s here. It’s because of _Noctis_ that he’s got it together as much as he does, even if it’s not enough. Nyx seems to pick up on that, though, on Prompto’s sudden shift, because he holds his hands up in the air, suddenly – pizza slice still in hand – and his tail thumps against the side of the couch.

 

“Whoa. _Not_ trying to offend you or your boyfriend, Prompto. It’s just kinda crazy to me. Me ‘n Luna, we’ve got the dogs, we’ve got breathing exercises, we have this whole system. Kinda proud of it, honestly, we’ve figured out _just_ the right kind of sex to get her moods balanced out.”

 

Prompto grabs another slice of pizza, because fuck he needs it.

 

“Pretty sure the sex isn’t an issue,” Prompto points out, rolling his eyes. After all, they’re _incubi._

 

Nyx shrugs, “nah, it’s a combination of the whole thing. Point is, we won’t be around for too much longer. You’re gonna have to learn what works for you, cuz Luna _likes_ it here. Lots of sad people. Come to think of it, probably because _you’re_ the one makin’ em sad.”

 

Prompto sighs. Pryna lifts her head and steals the crust of his pizza right from his hand. Damn dog.

 

“Assuming Noctis ever _wants_ me back,” Prompto points out, “I’m surprised he’s keeping me around. He’s pretty pissed.”

 

“He’s not pissed,” Nyx responds, with another one of those quirky smiles that Prompto’s quickly becoming familiar with. He _likes_ Nyx. Damnit, he wasn’t supposed to like the guy, but it’s hard not to. Even though Prompto’s telling himself, Nyx is a _very_ traditional incubus, maybe he’s not really. He seems honest, and trustworthy, and maybe that’s just because Luna and Noctis are friends, but whatever. It helps.

 

“You _did_ almost kill him,” Nyx points out, somewhat lazily. “Been there, done that. Almost dying _sucks._ I mean, I didn’t get my soul sucked out by boyfriend – honestly, I dunno how you guys even feed off each other like that, it’s _weird –_ but I’ve been beaten up pretty bad by a couple of thug daemons. It… kinda messes with the whole ‘I’m an immortal incubus’ mentality. He’s just fucked up.”

 

“Thanks, captain obvious,” Prompto groans. He tips his head back against the couch, his stomach rolling again at the thought of Noctis almost _dying._ It’d been traumatic as hell for both of them, but that still doesn’t give Prompto any answers about how to move forward. “… what the fuck should I do?”

 

“Give it time,” Nyx replies, “you hate the answer, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. Lemme teach you a few things, too, so that next time it won’t be so bad.”

 

Prompto sighs. He hates this. Nyx is right, though, damn him.

 

\---

 

Luna and Noctis are both gone when Prompto gets back home.

 

He misses Noct. Prompto sits down at the edge of the bed, and he stares at himself in the mirror. He looks like shit. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and the spirals of colour on his horns is duller than it should be. He’s not _starving_ to death, he’s been hunting, but nothing sates him the way Noctis does.

 

Prompto tips his head to the side, and he can _almost_ imagine it’s Noctis behind him. His eyes close, and he pictures Noctis pressed up against him, arms around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. They’ve done it a hundred times like this, Noctis teasing him, or lifting Prompto up into his lap. Prompto normally gets off on _watching_ himself in the mirror, but… fuck. He’s just _alone._

He’s alone, and he’s touch-starved. Incubi aren’t made for sadness. They aren’t meant to feel _lonely._ Prompto doesn’t really know how to process it. They’re supposed to be creatures of pure pleasure.

 

So, naturally, he’s got a hand in his pants. The emotions tend to make Prompto’s whole body run wild. Normally, Noctis would _know_ this, and he’d be here. He’d be working a hand into Prompto’s pants, lips running over his neck, breath hot as he mumbles sweet little praises into his ear, ones that drive him absolutely wild.

 

It’s been _weeks_ and Noctis has been shrugging away every one of Prompto’s touches. He’s been flinching, avoiding him, and Prompto’s going insane. He’s been gorging on humans, and it’s done _nothing._ It’s just not the same.

 

Prompto’s hard as all hell, and his body’s working on its own here. He’s a mess, and he’s lonely, and fuck, he just wants Noctis here. With his eyes closed, he can _almost_ imagine Noct’s hand sliding down over the curve of his hip. His free hand is tugging his pants off fully, and Prompto’s mind is filling in the blanks, pretending it’s Noct’s hands stripping him.

 

Fuck, Noctis would be telling him how good he looks. Prompto would normally be staring at himself in the mirror, getting off on watching, but he can’t right now. Opening his eyes means facing that he’s _alone,_ so he simply closes them. He pretends it’s Noct’s hand curling around his cock, even though it’s just his own.

 

Prompto’s hand doesn’t feel the same way Noct’s does. Noctis is always more _teasing._ Prom’s impatient. He’s also not used to having to touch himself, because why would he? He’s usually putting on a show for Noctis when he touches himself like this. Right now, he’s just aching and hard and desperate.

 

There’s none of the usual pleasure. There’s no eyes watching him as he jerks himself off, fisting his cock base to tip. He likes to feel Noct’s eyes on him, to tip his head back and gasp, to arch his back and exaggerate it all so nicely for Noctis. And hell, Prompto can feel how Noct’s eyes narrow, the intensity of his gaze, the quiet, pleased noise he’d make.

 

Right now, he almost gets lost in it. His own touch isn’t as good, but he’s touch-starved, and he’s so goddamn needy, it _almost_ doesn’t matter. The tip of his cock is wet, and Prompto hisses as thumbs over the leaking slit, spreading the precome around. His hips jerk as his other hand slips down to squeeze at his balls. It’s sharp pleasure, and it builds fast. Noctis would be slapping his hand away, and he’d be telling Prompto _no,_ he doesn’t get to come yet.

 

Noctis would be fucking him by now, and Prompto gasps and tosses his head back, thinking about Noct’s cock buried inside him as he comes. The pleasure rolls over him in waves, and it’s all physical, but it’s a pleasure that doesn’t extend to his chest. Prompto whines through his release, milking himself, but even the little aftershocks, the ones that usually have him all needy and desperate and begging for more, they just twist into _hurt,_ into overstimulated pain.

 

Prompto doesn’t want to open his eyes. His head’s tipped back, and he’s imagining Noct’s lips on his throat, and the words, the soft, ‘love you,’ that Noctis says in that damn sentimental _tone_ of his. Prompto loves to fucking tease Noct about how horribly _mortal_ he’s gotten, about how silly and dumb the words are.

 

He takes them for granted, doesn’t he?

 

His eyes slide open, and he’s alone. His fingers are covered with his mess, and his belly and thighs are trembling. Normally, Prompto would be staring at a blissed out, ruined version of himself, and Noct’s amber eyes would be narrowed, intense and _pleased_ as he stares him down. Instead, Prompto feels cold and alone and he misses the solid, protective warmth of Noctis pressed close.

 

“Noct,” Prompto says, quietly, and he swears, he’s done crying over Noctis. His eyes aren’t wet, they’re just burning. He wipes his hand off on his shirt, and he tugs it over his head, and then he crawls into bed.

 

Prompto’s still awake when Noctis comes in later, and there’s still all that space between them, when Noctis settles in on his side. The distance, it seems, has just grown further between them.

 

“Noct?” Prompto says, quietly, tentatively, as Noctis shifts awkwardly in the bed.

 

“… hey, Prom,” Noctis replies, just as quietly. “Didn’t know you were awake. You should go to sleep.”

 

Prompto wants to scream, and he wants to beg Noctis to touch him. He hates what he’s become, and even with all of Nyx’s advice bouncing around in his head, it’s still raining outside. Prompto’s sure Noct’s hair is wet, if he was outside. He’s probably cold and shivering and just as in need of comfort as Prompto is. But Noctis won’t let Prompto offer up any comfort. He won’t accept it. All that Prompto can do is _wait._

 

“Goodnight, Noct,” Prompto’s voice is low, muffled, as he buries his face into a pillow. He doesn’t know why he says it. “… love you.”

 

Noctis doesn’t reply, and Prompto’s heart breaks a little more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing nyx! and numi's design for him is fantastic, as always! <3 we had fun with today!! 
> 
> see you all tomorrow! :D almost halfway done the month!


	16. Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's always stuck cleaning up Noct's messes. He deserves a bit of fun, damnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober day 15: we just wanted to put Prompto in another skanky costume, honestly. <3 breakin' up the angst and jumping around more!  
> Almost at the halfway point!!  
> [follow numi for the spicy art!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/919817074062516225)

Prompto has learned one thing over the past couple hundred years, or however long they’ve been together. Again, it’s debatable, really, just how long it’s actually been. Time doesn’t quite work the right way for someone who doesn’t age. And, well, he’s learned a _lot_ of things, to get technical. _One_ thing he’s learned is that Noctis is lazy.

 

It goes beyond the bad sleeping habits. That’s a part of Noctis that Prompto figured out almost instantly. Noct sleeps a _lot._ He’s gotten a bit more active now that he’s got Prompto in his life – a point of pride for Prompto – but it’s a constant. There’s other things, though, too.

 

Noct’s shitty at keeping the apartment clean, for one.

 

It’s probably a good thing they don’t _really_ need to eat actual mortal food. On the occasions that Prompto cooks, a nice little treat for Noct, Noctis is pretty good about picking up the kitchen. They don’t have to do that often, though. The little things, though? They totally add up. Prompto’s just taken to picking up after Noctis over the years, and it’s become routine.

 

Lately though, Prompto’s been in a _mood -_ isn’t he always?! – and Noctis hasn’t been sleeping as much, and now? Prompto’s surveying the remains of their apartment. There’s a few empty soda cans littering the apartment. There’s an empty, soggy box of pizza on the coffee table. There’s a half-empty cup of tea (Noctis doesn’t even like tea?!) and some cookie crumbs, and apparently Squish had gotten bored and chewed up one of Noct’s favourite comic books, because the pages are torn and scattered across the apartment.

 

A shame. Prompto also liked that comic, and he makes a mental note to yell at Squishy later.

 

Noct’s currently asleep, and the malboro is in his usual place curled up on Noct’s chest. It leaves Prompto alone to sigh and grumble about the mess. The trash needs to be taken out, and it’s in between seasons and the place has gotten dusty, and… _well._ Being the only incubus in the place who cares about how clean their living quarters are is _hard._

 

Prompto sighs. He’s not one to dwell on the awful reality of his situation, though, and as he mentally prepares himself for the cleaning, he realizes it’s the _perfect_ opportunity to get revenge on Noctis. Prompto’s become _very_ prone to impulse internet purchases, and a few months back, he’d bought a bunch of novelty costumes…

 

So maybe, Prompto’s a little louder than he needs to be. Maybe he starts vacuuming while he knows Noct’s fast asleep. This all, of course, comes after he changes into one of his nice, new purchased outfits and spends a bit of time in the bathroom perfecting his hair and his makeup and ensuring that he looks absolutely _irresistible._

Noctis can sleep through a lot of things. Prompto’s not entirely sure his plan’s going to work.

 

So, he’s absolutely _thrilled_ when Noctis appears in the doorway, blinking sleepily, Squishy curled contentedly in his arms, making quiet purring malboro noises.

 

“Prom, do you _have_ to do that now—” Noctis starts to say. Then, his mind catches up with his mouth, and his eyes widen, as he takes in the sight in front of him.

 

Prompto’s very damn pleased at the shift of emotions across Noct’s face. He knows he looks _damn_ good.

 

The maid’s costume is absolutely the traditional “slutty french maid” affair. It’s low-cut, with straps that leave his freckled shoulders exposed to the world. The front is a black and white, corset, one that shows off a sharp collarbone and defined chest, and tapers in perfectly at his waist. Prompto’s damn aware he’s got _nice_ hips, and the corset emphasizes them, too, and the skirt is ridiculously short and ruffled. He’s finished the look off with stockings and black heels, and Prompto’s really quite proud of the whole look. It’s perfectly slutty.

 

“… how do you _always_ have these ridiculous costumes?” Noctis asks, after a long moment of silence.

 

Prompto smirks, and tips his head to the side and winks. He absolutely makes a point of wiggling his hips and shaking his ass as he finishes vacuuming their stupid, dirty carpet. Squishy manages to create a total mess, and Prompto swears the malboro hoards food under the couch, because there are crumbs _everywhere._

 

“I’m smart,” Prompto replies, with another flourished smile. He turns the vacuum off, and spins on his heels. The skirt lifts a little, exposing even more of his deliciously toned thighs, and Prompto does _not_ miss the way Noct’s eyes drift, admiring. “Besides, I totally know you get off on me dressing up for you.”

 

“Do not,” Noctis replies, but he’s not convincing anyone, not with the way his eyes are greedily taking in the sight of Prompto in front of him. “Fuck. C’mere, Prom, you look _so_ good.”

 

Squishy apparently can sense the tension in the air, because he hisses and jumps down from Noct’s arms, and scurries off to lurk in the shadows somewhere.

 

Prompto’s not falling for Noct’s charms, not today. Well, if ‘charms’ is the correct word for it.

 

“Nope,” Prompto replies, smartly, a hand on his hip as he tips his head and winks in Noct’s direction again. “Not until I’ve finished cleaning up _your_ mess. Sit. On the couch.”

 

“I can help, y’know,” Noctis tries to offer, but Prompto waves him off.

 

“Had your chance. You only wanna help cuz you think you’re getting fucked,” Prompto rolls his eyes, and he does his best to look offended, though his lips are quirking up and his eyes are sparkling all bright mischief. His tail twitches under the skirt, and Prompto puts on a bit of a show as he saunters forward, grabbing Noct’s hand and _tugging_ him sharply in the direction of the couch. “Now. Sit.”

 

Noctis sighs, but he’ll obey. Prompto knows he will. He _loves_ these games, when they get into them. Prompto eyes the growing erection in Noct’s sleep pants, and his smiles brightens even more. Yeah, Noct’s _definitely_ getting off on this. As much as he bitches and whines, Noctis gets off on Prompto denying him and teasing him. Today is not gonna be an exception.

 

Sure enough, Noctis settles down on the couch. Prompto stands over him, hip tilted to the side, and he lifts one long leg, pressing the toe of his heel right into Noct’s crotch.

 

“You’ve been _very_ messy, Mr. Caelum,” Prompto teases, with a laugh. Noctis _groans_ and his hips roll forward. He reaches for Prompto’s thigh, to tug him closer, to get more friction, but Prompto simply steps back, pulling away from Noct’s grip. “And _now_ you’re being very unprofessional! No touching the staff while they’re working!”

 

“You are the _worst_ cocktease,” Noctis grumbles, but he’s not quite able to mask the mixture of amused arousal written across his face, and his eyes are burning bright amber. He leans back, settling comfortably against the couch, intent on watching the show.

 

If Noctis thought Prompto was a cocktease before, Prompto’s _now_ determined to make him eat those words. He puts on quite a show of bending over as he cleans the trash off the coffee table. He’s absolutely not wearing anything underneath the costume, too – except for a nice, lacy garter belt, of course - and Prompto’s damn well aware that the swell of his ass is visible if he shifts just right or leans over.

 

“You’re purposely going slow,” Noctis accuses, as Prompto takes his sweet time clearing away the soiled, empty pizza box. Prompto merely smiles in response, and he makes quite a show of wiggling his ass, his thighs spread just enough for the swell of his balls and the tip of his half-hard cock to be visible. Yeah, Prompto’s absolutely getting off on this, too. He _loves_ driving Noctis insane. Fuck, he lives for the other daemon’s reactions, for the sharp intake of breath, the way that Noct shifts awkwardly on the couch. It feels pretty nice, too. The stockings that go partway up Prompto’s thighs are soft and silky, and the skirt of the slutty little costume is nice and comfortable, too. The ruffled, lace edges brush over his cock and make him sigh and shift, and he feels very _sensitive._

 

Hell, even the heels make Prompto feel graceful, adding a couple of inches to his height, and that little bit of extra height is advantageous, too. Honestly, he’s just feeling pretty damn perfect, and Noct’s eyes fixated on him are an extra little thrill. Goddamnit, Prompto absolutely gets hard knowing that Noctis is watching him.

 

Prompto has to admit, too, buying the silly little black and white feather duster was _totally_ a great addition to the costume. It definitely isn’t meant for any real cleaning. It’s way too soft and floppy to do much more than push dust around. Noctis doesn’t really seem to care though, and suddenly, the thought of _actually_ cleaning is kinda far out of Prompto’s mind.

 

“Prom,” Noctis says, when Prompto leans in, draping the end of the duster over his crotch, rubbing enticingly over the bulge of his erection, “that’s _not_ cleaning.”

 

“You’re dirty,” Prompto responds, with a laugh. His expression is just _begging_ Noctis to challenge that logic. Noct, however, is apparently smarter than _that,_ at least, because his merely arches a brow and spreads his thighs further apart. It’s a horrible tease, and they both know it’s not going anywhere. Noct’s well accustomed to Prompto’s little games by now. Prompto’s just high on the power, on the energy that’s slowly spreading through the room, setting his nerves on fire.

 

“You gonna clean me up?” Noctis teases, as Prompto drags the end of the duster up along the inside of his thighs and drapes it over the bulge in Noct’s pants again. He’s still clothed, and it’s mostly just a bit of light friction, but the more Noctis mouths off, the more _determined_ it’s making Prompto.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto replies. He straightens again, and he stretches his arms over his head, the edge of the lacy skirt hiking up to reveal smooth thighs and his half-hard cock. Noct’s eyes flicker from Prompto’s face, down between his thighs, and then back up. Their eyes meet, and Prompto licks his lips. “Your pants are totally dirty, too. Take ‘em off, so I can do laundry.”

 

“Bullshit you’re doing laundry,” Noctis laughs, but he’s absolutely _obeying,_ lifting his hips up off the couch to shimmy out of them, and when he tosses them in Prompto’s face, Prompto catches the garment with a flick of his wrist. He can be coordinated when he wants to be, after all.

 

Prompto _isn’t_ doing laundry, and he rolls his eyes and tosses the pants off to the side. Squishy will probably steal them later and make some weird malboro nest out of them, but neither of them care about _that_ right now, either. Instead, he’s leaning in again, dragging the soft brush of feathers over Noct’s inner thighs.

 

Noctis _trembles,_ now that his skin’s bare, now that there’s nothing between the teasing, tickling brush of feathers over him. Prompto laughs, because Noctis is absolutely _trying_ to stay still, and he’s trying not to reveal just how goddamn aroused he is. It’s pointless, of course. Prompto _knows_ Noct by now. He can judge the subtle shift in his emotions, and fuck, even if he couldn’t read the expression on Noct’s face, or the way he can’t quite sit still, the trembling thighs and clenching belly and the way his rock-hard erection twitches against his stomach is _totally_ giving him away.

 

“You’re the _worst,”_ Noctis hisses, when Prompto slides the tip of the duster down, over his tightly drawn balls. He hovers there, just for a moment, and Noctis squirms awkwardly, biting back laughter as Prompto tickles and teases him. When he’s finally had _enough,_ Noct reaches down to try and swat Prompto away, but he’s faster – he’s always faster – and drags it down over Noct’s thighs instead, swirling and teasing soft little patterns over his skin.

 

“I’m the best, you mean,” Prompto mumbles. He teases over Noct’s cock again, feather-light, evil little touches, and when Noct’s breath starts catching in his throat and his hips start jerking helplessly into the touch, Prompto finally draws away. His head’s tipped to the side, cheeks flushed bright with mischievous arousal, eyes vibrant, as Prompto drinks in the sight of Noctis.

 

Noct looks _damn good_ when he’s getting all needy and desperate. He’s sprawled across the couch, shirt hiked partway up his belly, naked from the waist down, thigh spread wide and cock hard and beading precome at the tip. Noct’s in that place where he’s still trying really damn hard to pretend he isn’t aroused as hell, and he’s totally failing. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks, and Prompto swears, he can see the slick sheen of sweat over his flawless skin.

 

Prompto feels amazing.

 

“You know, it’s pretty awful of you. Lusting after your helpless maid, while I clean up _your_ mess,” Prompto points out. He draws back, and he offers Noctis his best pouty look. It’s a horrible low blow, because Prompto has _mastered_ the sultry, pouty look. He’s got the wide, needy eyes, the jut of his lower lip, the wobble in his expression, all perfected after two fucking centuries of learning just how to play Noctis. The outfit emphasizes all the best parts of his features, and Prompto bats his lashes, lifting a leg up onto the coffee table, showing off the stiletto heels.

 

Noctis _loves_ the heels. Prompto knows that. He’s definitely stepped on Noct’s chest more than once wearing heels, and the _noises_ Noctis made…

 

It’s enticing as all hell right now. It’s not Prompto’s end goal, of course, but he _maybe_ lowers his leg, dragging the sharp point of his heel down Noct’s shin, eyes narrowed, all full of haughty, sexual confidence.

 

“Only thing you’re convincing me is that I should be messy more often,” Noctis manages to say, though there’s a moment where he can’t seem to find the right words. Prompto is pleased, and his eyes narrow. He pauses for a moment, poised in front of Noctis, one hand on his hip, the other still clutching the duster.

 

Prompto _really_ would love to absolutely drive Noctis crazy. He’d love to work around him, purposely showing off his ass and his erection and denying Noctis completely while he cleans every last goddamn mess in the entire apartment. But… well. Their apartment is pretty messy. _Maybe_ some of the mess might even be Prompto’s, though he isn’t about to admit to _that._

 

And, okay. Prompto’s high on the power rush he gets when he’s all dressed up. He knows he’s goddamn gorgeous. They can modify their appearances somewhat, after all, and even though Noctis is _way_ better at modifying his – Prompto never did figure out how to get rid of the freckles – Prompto is generally happy with how he looks. He knows he’s irresistible to mortals.

 

He’s irresistible to Noctis, too, of course.

 

When Prompto’s all dressed up, though? It’s a rush of its own. His cock is aching now, getting off on how much power he has over Noctis. The damn little maid uniform is making him hypersensitive and needy, too, and Prompto’s pretty sure the front of the skirt is all damp and sticky now, where the head of his erection is leaking against the fabric.

 

Lucky for Noctis, Prompto’s eager to touch, just as much as Noctis wants to be touched. Fuck, his impatience really does _always_ win out.

 

“You think we should make a new mess to clean up?” Prompto asks, with a laugh, and before Noctis can reply, he’s crawling onto the couch, shifting to straddle Noct’s lap, the duster tossed aside.

 

“Definitely,” Noct laughs, and curls an arm around Prompto’s waist, but Prompto slaps him away, drawing himself up, chest high, as he grinds his ass down into Noct’s erection.

 

“Getting handsy,” Prompto points out, with another spectacular pout. The skirt hikes up his thighs as he shifts, straddling Noct properly, keeping the other daemon’s hands pinned firmly at his sides. It gives Prompto the leverage to lazily grind his hips, rocking back and forth across Noct’s aching cock, sighing at the slick drag of precome smearing along his skin, between the cleft of his ass.

  
Noctis struggles a little, but it’s half-hearted, more to add to the _thrill_ that wracks through Prompto. Physically, Noct’s stronger. Prompto’s stronger in so many _other_ ways, but like this? Noct could break free in an instant. They both know that. But Prompto knows Noctis _won’t,_ that he’s too busy getting off on the way Prompto’s grinding in his lap, teasing his aching, oversensitive flesh, putting on a delicious show.

 

“I’m not allowed to touch?” Noctis teases.

 

Prompto responds by leaning forward, a smirk written all over his face, as he bites into Noct’s shoulder, right through his shirt, _hard._ Noct responds instantly with a hiss, his whole body jolting, and his cock leaking hot and wet against Prompto’s skin. They’re both in the same mood, apparently, and it makes Prompto throb with need, groaning as he leans in closer, shifting his thighs wider. His erection’s caught between their bellies, rubbing against the lace of the costume, and it feels _good._

 

“Every time you touch,” Prompto mumbles, releasing Noct’s hands, his own gliding up the other daemon’s stomach, tracing over his abs, stroking over his chest and teasing his nipples through his shirt, “I’m gonna punish you.”

 

Noctis reaches to grip Prompto’s ass, spreading his cheeks and _squeezing,_ rough, and harsh and needy. Prompto fights back the urge to whine, the sound keening in his throat, and he _wants_ to grind down. Fuck, he wants to lift up and ride Noctis rough and hard, but more than that, he doesn’t want it to end. It’s always such a dilemma. Prompto’s always fighting with himself at this point, because he’s needy and impatient as all hell, but it always ends _way_ too soon. It’s a damn good thing they’re incubi, because otherwise, they’d exist in a blissed out, exhausted state. Hell, even being what they are, they already nearly _do._

 

“Told you not to touch,” Prompto responds, even though he’s grinding his ass back into Noct’s grip, hissing at the harsh pressure of fingers digging into his sensitive skin. He dips his head in again, though, biting at Noct’s neck, leaving nice little red marks when he draws away.

 

Noct’s cock twitches against him again, and fuck, Prompto _loves_ this.

 

“You’re a slut, Prom,” Noctis replies, lazily, and Prompto rewards him with another bite, this one along his jaw, and chased with the hot drag of tongue over the mark he’s made. They both sigh; they’re both whores for each other, half-drunk on an intoxicating mixture of lust and pain.

 

“You’re a slut too, asshole,” Prompto responds, with a throaty laugh. His lips drag hot trails along Noct’s jaw, teeth tugging at his lower lip before he goes in for a kiss, rough and needy. Noct’s hands shift to his thighs, rough drags of fingers that are guaranteed to bruise, and it has Prompto whimpering again, the contrast between rough, hot pressure and the drag of the silk stockings over his skin _too_ damn much. While Noct’s distracted by the kiss, Prompto’s lifting up, shifting his hips. One arm wraps tight around his shoulders, the other’s reaching back, positioning—

 

The kiss breaks and Noctis _moans_ when Prompto splits himself open on Noct’s cock. The response is instant. Prompto shudders violently, clenching down tight as he’s worked hot and open. He’s tight, and fuck, it’s a good thing they’re made for this, because otherwise it would hurt. Hell, Prompto’s in a specific kind of mood where he’s craving the pain, and it _does_ hurt a little, a delicious, harsh, burning split as he sinks down fully on Noct’s cock, only stopping when he’s totally full, when he feels the heavy weight of Noct’s balls against his ass.

 

“Fuck, Prom, you’re _amazing,”_ Noctis mumbles, and Prompto silences him with another harsh bite into his shoulder. Prompto’s gasping though, Noct’s name on his lips, as he slowly lifts himself up with trembling thighs, drawing up until only the head of Noct’s cock is still trapped inside. It must feel good, the rim of Prompto’s ass tightly gripping him, because Noct’s making the most amazing sound, his fingers moving to grip at Prompto’s hips. Noctis knows better than to rush him, but Prompto can tell how he’s barely holding on to his restraint, all twitching fingers and flexing hips.

 

Prompto sets an agonizing, slow pace for a few lazy minutes. He grinds his hips hard on Noct’s erection, but it’s slow, as he draws him back inside, sinks down on the thick length working into him. Noct’s cock is throbbing within him, and Prompto feels it to the very root of him. It’s rushing through his blood, centering in his own cock, still trapped against the smooth lace of the dress he’s wearing. The stiletto heels he’s wearing dig into Noct’s thighs, and that’s another little point of pain, but Noct’s thighs tremble every time Prompto digs in. They’re both getting off on this, and it’s _good._

 

“Fuck,” Noctis hisses again, when Prompto lifts up. Both hands are gripping at Noct’s shoulders, and Prompto poises there, drawn fully onto his knees, just the tip inside him still. He grips at the muscle flexing in Noct’s shoulders, _hard,_ and leans in to steal another of those brutal, bruising kisses.

 

“So,” Prompto mumbles, as he leans back, head tipped, eyes swirling and teasing. A hand lifts, strokes lazily along one of Noct’s horns, fingers rubbing rough against the textured, ridged curve, “you gonna fuck me already, or what?”

 

That’s all the encouragement Noctis needs. Suddenly, his fingers are digging into Prompto’s hips, hard enough to hurt like hell, to leave dark, bruising marks, and he’s wrenching Prompto back down. Prompto gasps, his head tossing back as he’s split open on Noct’s cock, and all he can do is hold on for dear life as Noctis begins to work him over his cock.

 

Most times, Prompto likes to be in charge when he’s riding Noct’s dick. He likes to roll his hips and put on a show, to arch his chest and show off erect nipples and tightly drawn muscle and freckle-smattered skin that’s slick with sweat. Prompto knows he looks good. He must look _amazing_ in the dress. It’s all mussed up, the skirt hiked fully up his hips, exposing his bouncing, leaking erection. Hell, the front of the dress is riding down, too, and his nipples are tight and visible through the fabric.

 

Right now, Prompto’s handed all the power over to Noctis. It’s rough, and it’s brutal, and he can barely do anything but gasp and moan and hold on for dear life as he’s lifted in rough bounces over Noct’s cock. Prompto’s rocking his hips, grinding down frantically, and each time Noctis pulls him down, he’s bottoming out, his balls pressed tight against the curve of Prompto’s ass. When he lifts him up, Prompto’s left _empty,_ wanting, craving more, and they’re both gasping. Prompto screams out, when Noctis shifts his hips, pulls him forward so his back arches and his hips pivot forward, and that first delicious thrust into his prostate is pleasure exploding.

 

Prompto’s almost tempted to stop Noctis, because he can feel his orgasm building, fast and steady, and the pace is so frantic and good that he can’t fight it off. He’s desperate though, and fuck, the stupid drag of the lace dress over him is just making it _that_ much worse. His fingers are digging into Noct’s skin, nails cutting into him, leaving red, blood-streaked crescent lines. Noctis hisses, and he just works harder, dragging Prompto onto his cock, hips thrusting up as he does.

 

It’s brutal, and it’s fast, and when the head of Noct’s cock grinds into his prostate rough and hard, Prompto sees stars, and the world goes white. He doesn’t even realize he’s coming, his cock twitching, trapped between their bellies, the friction of their bodies and the drag of the fabric over the wet tip just too much for him to handle. Noctis keeps fucking up into him, dragging him over his erection, rough and fast until Prompto’s overstimulated. He’s barely holding on, the sobs stifled by rough, desperate bites that he’s marking Noctis with. There’s a bite into his shoulder, one into his collarbone, and one that’s deep enough that Prompto tastes copper, right into the crook of his neck. Noctis cries out, and whether it’s the rough jolt of pain that does it, or the way he thrusts up _hard,_ burying himself to the hilt, who knows, but he’s coming, hot and wet inside.

 

Prompto clings desperately, Noctis pulsing and throbbing inside as he rides out the final waves of his release. He feels full and content and fuck, it wasn’t _quite_ rough enough, but it was enough to scratch the itch that’s been building up in him.

 

“Ever noticed,” Noctis mumbles, lazily, as he comes down from the high of orgasm, “that we always manage to ruin costumes?”

 

Prompto laughs quietly. The front of the maid’s costume is all wet and sticky where he came against it. It’s always a dilemma, of course, debating whether it’s even _worth_ trying to get the damn thing dry cleaned, or if he should just suck it up and replace it.

 

“Funny how that happens, huh?” Prompto replies. He kisses into Noct’s shoulder, the blood oozing up from the bite mark leaving the coppery aftertaste heavy in his mouth. It’s another little fresh jolt of desire, and his cock’s still half-hard, trapped between them, even if the wet drag of the lace is a very _different_ type of stimulation. Hey, it’s not a bad one, though.

 

“Think we ended up with more mess than we started with, too,” Noctis points out.

 

Prompto laughs, and he shifts in Noct’s lap. Noctis is still inside of him, and when he lifts up, the curve of his ass and the inside of his thighs is wet with mess. “Dunno if you _saw_ the place, but it was kind of a disaster. We’d have to work _really_ hard to beat that.”

 

Noctis squeezes his hips, thumb digging right into the jut of bone, and it hurts and feels _amazing._ Prompto sighs happily, head tipping back, and he leans in again, curling his arms around Noct’s neck and pressing their lips together.

 

“Wanna try then?” Noctis asks, with a throaty laugh, as the kiss parts. He’s still twitching, still semi-hard against Prompto’s thigh.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, “costume’s already ruined. Might as well go all out.”

 

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry if this was a bit disjointed/messy. i wrote this running on about 4 hours of sleep, after running a 10 mile race in the early hours of the morning. my introverted ass hung out with people all goddamn day, and i'm just... both physically and mentally tired.
> 
> but! i'm dedicated to kinktober and so i got this done. thank you so much to numi for being the most amazing co-conspirator on this series, i would've skipped today if it wasn't for her. <3
> 
> tomorrow, we will return to the angst, folks. <3


	17. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx tells Noctis to get his shit together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober Day 16. A bit of resolution to the little sub-plot that's been going on, and it miiiight help you place the timeline a bit better. Maybe. 8)  
> Pretty vanilla today. It's just passion. <3

Noctis figures out he’s being dumb pretty early on.

 

He _knows_ it’s stupid.

 

He’s alive. He’s undeniably, indisputably alive and here. He didn’t die. Fuck, he doesn’t even _remember_ much of that particular event. It’d been some really intense sex. Noctis had felt good, _better_ than he’d ever felt before. Prompto had been grinding on him, all frantic and desperate presses of lips, and then the world had gone _fuzzy._ When Noctis had woken up, he’d been _starving_ and weak and Luna and Nyx had been there. Her dogs were, too, Umbra and Pryna in the bed with them…

 

Luna filled in the blanks, and Noctis had felt that twisting knot of dread in his stomach.

 

This is all his fault, of course. Ignis has been telling Noct for _years_ that Prompto’s dangerous. Noctis knows that Prompto’s capable of those crazy turns of the weather, that when his moods get _that_ bad, there’s spikes in suicide rates and negative emotions that turn the whole city haywire. That stuff isn’t new. But knowing that Prompto _is_ capable of killing him?

 

Well, being a seemingly all-powerful, damn near immortal daemonic being and facing his own weaknesses, the fact that the only creature he’s capable of loving damn near killed him… it’s fucking with Noctis. It’s fucking with him a _lot._ He doesn’t know how to deal with it.

 

Noctis doesn’t mean to be pushing Prompto aside. It’s just instincts, deep instincts that have been honed over the years, that are geared solely toward _survival,_ they kick in now whenever Prompto’s near. The first time Prompto sneaks up on him and curls his arms around Noct’s waist from behind, Noctis nearly spins and punches him in the face. He doesn’t, of course; he simply tenses, and _waits._ Noct hates what he’s becoming. He loathes that his subconscious is treating Prompto as something _dangerous._

Fuck, Noctis hates that maybe Prompto simply _is_ something dangerous.

 

They’re incubi. On the surface, yeah, they’re a lazy, domestic couple. They’ve been tamed in some ways, over the years, like house cats, in a sense. Most of the time, they’re happy to toy with their prey, to use them until their needs are sated, and to let them scurry away. But underneath? Those killer instincts are still razor sharp. And fuck, Prompto is _strong._ He’s more powerful than Noctis.

 

Noct hates it all.

 

He wakes up from a nightmare one night. He doesn’t _have_ nightmares, and it’s vague as he jerks away, in a cold sweat, but he’s pretty sure it was a nightmare involving Prompto. Noct sighs, and he sits up, and he realizes the bed is empty, that Prompto left to go sleep on the couch again.

 

Noctis hates the way he feels like he’s split in half. His mind is torn in two. One the one hand… he’s lonely. He misses Prompto. He wants to snuggle up to his daemonic lover, to get his arms around Prompto’s waist and tug him in, and to be pressed warm, skin-to-skin, lips devouring each other. Fuck, Noct’s touch starved. It’s been _weeks._

 

He can’t though, because the other half of Noct’s mind is _relief._ He’s afraid, on edge, whenever Prompto is near. Prompto was a wild, half-feral thing, once upon a time. Even now, with all this history behind them, after all this goddamn time, Prompto got lost in his instincts and tried to _kill_ him.

 

It had been an accident. Noctis knows Prompto’s suffering for it. He can feel the misery radiating off him, and he doesn’t need the constant, steady drizzle of rain from the grey sky to know. He doesn’t need Luna telling him, either. She’s stayed close, keeping Prompto’s abilities dulled, and Noct knows it’s exhausting for her, too. She’s not meant to feed on other incubi, either. Hell, she doesn’t really _feed,_ so much as exert her own abilities and cancel them out.

 

Noctis turns in bed, and he stares at Prompto’s empty spot. He _almost_ gets up.

 

It’s not that hard. He can go into the living room, and curl up on the couch next to Prompto, and whisper, “I’m sorry, I love you,” and they can move past this, right? So why aren’t his feet working? Why does the thought of being close to Prompto make his whole body freeze up and scream in panic? Fuck.

 

They’re incubi. They’re built to feed on humans and to prioritize self-preservation, and suddenly Prompto’s challenged everything.

 

Noctis hopes Prompto’s asleep, and that he doesn’t hear the quiet, choked sound he makes as he settles back down into bed. Noct buries his face into his pillow, and he hates how he feels so torn in half by this. He wishes, more than anything, that things could go back to normal. He wishes that Prompto could just _control_ all these things inside of him. He wishes that he could control his own thinly-veiled terror.

 

Noctis hates that he’s afraid of Prompto, more than anything.

 

He hates that Prompto’s stronger than he is.

 

But he can’t change it. The rain beats steadily against the windows. It’s a constant sound, and it should lull Noctis back to sleep, with the rhythmic drumming, but instead it’s just another reminder that Prompto’s suffering, too.

 

\---

 

“Hey,” Nyx says, when he shows up randomly.

 

Noct’s alone in the apartment. Prompto’s out hunting, and Noctis knows that a dead body will probably show up. He’s started ignoring that, because really, can he blame Prompto, here? Noctis knows he’s asking _too much_ of the other incubus. He knows it, but again, he can’t get his fucking stupid mind to cooperate. He’s got to get over this, and Luna’s told him it takes _time,_ but it’s been almost a month of being on eggshells around each other. Noct’s exhausted, and he knows Prompto’s suffering. More than once, they’ve had halted conversation where Prompto’s offered to leave, where Noct’s told him _no,_ and maybe now he’s the one who’s wrong. Maybe Noctis _should_ ask Prompto to leave – but he’s terrified if he does, he’ll never see him again. Fuck, the whole city would be taken out by a hurricane by now, if it wasn’t for Luna.

 

Nyx and Luna are always nearby. Lately, Luna’s been keeping an eye on Prompto when he’s hunting – there was a surprisingly _bloody_ death a few days back, and none of them think it was Prom, but you can never be too sure – and so when Nyx knocks on the door before letting himself in, Noct’s not surprised.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says. He barely looks up. He doesn’t mind Nyx.

 

When Luna had started hanging around the city – mostly drawn to the negative energy Prompto brings – Noct had turned a blind eye. She’s _good_ for his territory, after all. Prompto’s spirals of depression make people want to leave, and it makes them taste horrible when they’re sad. Luna’s presence is mutually beneficial. Of course, she’d brought _Nyx_ with her, and Noct hadn’t been happy about that. He’d been ready to sink his teeth in and bare his claws.

 

Nyx, however, ended up being pretty chill, and when he’d assured Noctis he’d leave town to do his killing and most of his hunting… well, Noctis didn’t really have a valid argument.

 

Besides, Luna seems to love him. Noctis and Luna are fast friends, by now.

 

There’s no denying, either, that Nyx has managed to form some sort of a friendship with Prompto. That’s… surprising. Prompto’s easily threatened by other incubi. He doesn’t like Ignis, and he doesn’t care much for Gladio, either. Prompto’s got a jealous streak toward Luna, too. So Noctis can’t help but twist his hands in his lap and tolerate Nyx, maybe even appreciate his existence.

 

“Can I sit?” Nyx asks. He’s leaning in the doorway, an arm propped up against the frame, head tipped to the side. The other daemon is bigger than Noctis. He’s more _traditional_ in his methods, all muscle and charm and Noctis knows Nyx has no qualms with picking a fight when he has to. He can respect that.

 

Noctis simply shrugs, and shifts on the couch, making room for the other incubus.

 

Nyx flashes Noctis a lazy grin as he settles down, arm thrown over the back of the couch, head tipped to the side. Noct hasn’t quite learned how to read the other incubus yet. Nyx is traditional in his methods, yeah, but he’s generally laid back, in the ‘I know I’m a badass’ kind of way. He hasn’t figured out if the other incubus is here out of boredom or necessity, though.

 

“How’s trouble in paradise?” Nyx asks, with a quiet laugh.

 

Noctis sighs. “Trouble.” His hands are in his lap and he’s fidgeting a little. He hates this. Luna’s been trying to talk him through it, and she’s _helpful,_ but… Noct can’t change his nature. He can’t change this.

 

“Figured,” Nyx responds, nodding vaguely at the window, where the rain’s still coming down. “Starting to get sick of the rain. He’s really always had this power?”

 

Noctis doesn’t really _want_ to be talking about Prompto. He wants to forget everything. But he _needs_ to talk about it. Luna’s helpful, yeah, but she’s tired, too. She’s too _involved,_ somehow, keeping Prompto from totally losing it. Nyx is involved, too, by association, but at least he’s a fresh pair of ears. Noct can’t talk to Ignis or Gladio, either, they’re already too concerned about Prompto being a _loose cannon,_ so…

 

“He’s always done this, yeah,” Noctis admits, with a small, self-conscious smile, dipping his head down. It’s weird, how his mind is working, here. He’s got all these conflicted, messy feelings about Prompto. Fuck, the memories are strong. They’ve been together for ages, and some of the memories have faded away, but others are still crystal-clear and stark in front of him. “He caused a flood, once. That was a mess.”

 

It had been horrible at the time, yeah, but now? Noctis can’t help but look back at the incident with a smile and a bit of laughter. He’s a mess.

 

“He never tried to kill you before, though,” Nyx says, casually, and Noctis tenses. He knows it’s obvious, the way his muscles go tight and he looks away, pointedly. The other incubus is watching him, violet-blue eyes vivid, intense, but not judging.

 

“No,” Noctis agrees, “… hundreds of years together, and _that_ never happened before. He—” and Noctis doesn’t like to admit this part. He’s never admitted it, not to Ignis (he’d lose his shit), and not even to Luna, because Noct doesn’t want to worry her. Maybe Nyx just caught him worn down, after weeks of playing this weird game of avoidance, or maybe he’s just got that ‘caring badass’ appeal mastered. Maybe both.

 

“He’s getting stronger, I think,” Noctis says, the confession falling from his lips, and he chews on his lip nervously.

 

Nyx shrugs. “Sometimes powers take a long time to manifest. Doesn’t help that you idiots are so soft. Being in love can fuck with your emotions, you know. You’re not doing him any favours.”

 

Noctis blinks. He’s never considered it that way. Hundreds of years together, and the thought is just occurring to him now—and it’d taken Nyx pointing it out. “… you think being with me makes it worse?”

 

“Worse is a pretty subjective word to use,” Nyx smiles lazily. “I think you gotta accept that just telling the kid to keep things under control isn’t gonna help. You think me telling Luna to stop having a bad day helps?”

 

Noctis flushes, and there’s a rise of emotion in him. He’s instantly defensive, of course, that Nyx would come in here and assume he knows Prompto better than he does. Fuck, Noct’s been doing his damn _best_ to help, to diffuse the situations, time after time. He _knows_ the other incubus is trying to help. He knows that Nyx is very much a no-bullshit, straightforward kinda guy. He should be appreciating it.

 

 _Should_ is another one of those tricky words though.

 

“You have a better solution then?!” Noctis grumbles, and his eyes are burning bright, his tail swishing and flicking in annoyance, thumping against the couch.

 

Nyx sounds amused, though there’s an _edge_ to his voice, a very definite sort of ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone. “Actually. Yeah, I do. Coping mechanisms are a thing, you know. For someone who loves mortals so much, I figured you’d realize that.”  

 

“I don’t love mortals,” Noctis sighs, “I just… don’t see the point in killing them, when we don’t have to.”

 

“Yeah. Because you love them,” Nyx sounds amused. “I get it, though. Case you didn’t notice, I love Luna. It makes us weird, when we care about something other than ourselves. ‘Course, I think most humans are idiots, but then I go ahead and risk my life to take out the asshole daemons who cause too much trouble.” He shrugs, and lazily plays with the curved point of one horn. “Don’t need to get so offended by me. I’m trying to help.”

 

The words put Noctis a little more at ease. That is half of the problem, of course. He _loves_ Prompto. Noctis knows that. He’s known it for so fucking long now, and he’s even _accepted_ it. They’re incubi, and they aren’t supposed to be capable of love. This just supposed to be about his own pleasure, his own base needs, his own _survival._ It’s why this whole situation is so fucked up—Noct’s trying to go against his very _essence,_ being with Prompto.

 

“… so. Coping mechanisms. What should I do? What would help Prom?” Noctis asks, quietly.

 

Nyx laughs. “Now you’re starting to get it. I taught the kid some breathing exercises, some meditations and shit. That stuff helps Luna get control over her emotions. It sounds like that weird hippie shit, but it works.”

 

Noctis nods, slowly. Maybe if he can _convince_ himself that Prompto’s gonna get better, that this won’t happen again, he’ll be able to keep it together. He wants to stop pushing Prompto away. It’s breaking both of them, slowly and steadily, and Noct’s not sure how long they can keep going like this.

 

“We’ve got the dogs, too,” Nyx adds, thoughtfully. “Maybe you should get him a pet or something. I dunno. That’s trickier. Normal human dogs don’t live long enough to be useful. Umbra and Pryna took _forever_ to find. You want something that lives a long time.”

 

“I dunno about that,” Noctis replies, immediately. He loves Luna’s dogs, but it seems like a lot of hassle. Noct’s already barely keeping it together, with just Prompto around. Fuck, and he’s already having visions of something _happening,_ of giving Prompto another thing to get attached to, and if something bad happened to it…?

 

“Whatever. Just a suggestion,” Nyx shrugs. “… how are _you_ dealing with this?”

 

Noctis isn’t dealing with it. That’s maybe the bulk of the current problem. More than Prompto being unable to control his emotions, right now, Noctis is the one pushing him away. He tries to think of something to say, here. Noct can’t bear to look at Nyx, so he turns his eyes down again, looking away, hair falling over his eyes. He doesn’t even know how to put it to words, either. Everything’s a jumbled mess.

 

“… I’ve never been close to dying, before,” Noctis admits, slowly. “I’m totally messed up by it.”

 

“ ‘course you are,” Nyx agrees, “but you’re being a fucking bitch about it.”

 

Noctis doesn’t quite expect _that_ answer. He tenses up, immediately, eyes narrowing. Fuck, Noct’s not the type to run away, either, but there’s a sudden urge to flee. Hell, he’s debating just crawling back into bed and trying to sleep it off. Part of him, of course, knows that Nyx is _right._

 

“I’m doing my best,” Noctis snaps, and his voice is harsher than he’d intended.

 

“No, you’re not,” Nyx replies, shrugging. When Noctis sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye, Nyx is watching him. He’s all casual, still, but his eyes are narrowed, even as he casually leans back on the couch. “You’ve been denying that he’s _different._ You’ve been pretending that just being with him isn’t dangerous. It is. You might die. Accept it, and things will get easier.”

 

“I’m supposed to accept that I might _die?”_ Noct’s voice is incredulous, and he’s more shocked than pissed, now. He doesn’t understand how someone like Nyx even _exists,_ honestly. One moment, he’s seducing mortals, sucking their life away with barely a regard, and the next he’s bending over backwards for Luna, protecting her, helping Prompto, offering Noct heavy advice he doesn’t want to hear—

 

“Yep,” Nyx replies. “I’ve accepted it. You think I pick fights with bads all the time ‘cuz I want to?”

 

Noctis opens his mouth to say ‘uh, yeah,’ but Nyx interrupts him before he can.

 

“Okay, so maybe _sometimes_ I do, yeah. But sometimes it’s cuz Luna attracts attention. Hell, sometimes _Luna_ scares the shit out of me,” Nyx laughs, and he reaches out, across the couch. Noctis almost flinches away from the touch, when a heavy hand rests on his shoulder, but he doesn’t. He’s proud of himself for staying steady, and fuck, okay, so maybe the contact feels _good._ He’s been touch-starved, only eating when he absolutely has to, and even then, it’s hard to take pleasure in it. Noctis misses Prompto’s touch.

 

“… so, I’m supposed to be okay with dying?” Noctis asks, quietly, and he lifts a hand, cautiously, placing it over Nyx’s. Maybe that’s going too far, maybe he’s making this a touch too personal. If Nyx thinks so, though, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he gives Noct’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and shrugs

 

“Humans know they’re going to die, and they make peace with it. You love those damn mortals so much, you should be able to understand,” Nyx points out. “Not sayin’ it’s gonna happen. But you need to figure out if Prompto’s worth the risk. If he isn’t? Stop fucking around. You’re both being idiots.”

 

“Prompto’s worth everything,” Noctis replies, immediately, the worst blurting out before he can even really consider what he’s saying. He pauses, flushes when he realizes it, and suddenly, the world seems to make a bit more sense. Noct’s still a mess, and he’s still confused and conflicted, and he’s still _terrified,_ but that bit, at least, comes together.

 

“Guess you know what you gotta do then,” Nyx laughs, tugging his hand away. “You totally owe me a fuckin’ beer for holding your hand through this, just so y’know. There’s a sports bar down the street that has _really_ good wings. You game?”

 

Noctis doesn’t bother pointing out that beer is gross, and also that alcohol does absolutely nothing for their kind. Food doesn’t either, after all. And fuck, Noctis really _could_ go for some wings.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Noctis grumbles. Nyx climbs to his feet, and Noctis follows. “… thanks, by the way. For caring about Luna the way you do.”

 

Nyx laughs. “You don’t gotta thank me. Luna would be fine on her own.”

 

Noct’s not so sure, but then again, he thinks maybe Nyx isn’t so traditional after all, either. Maybe he needs someone to fight for.

 

\---

 

Noctis is oddly nervous, waiting for Prompto to get back. He’d tried to go to bed, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’s simply sitting at the foot of it now. His tail’s curled around his thigh, twitching nervously. His fingers are itching. Prompto hasn’t come home yet, and it’s late, and Noct would be worried, but the weather is its usual constant, dreary drizzle, and Luna hasn’t contacted them.

 

Finally, the front door swings open. Noctis hears footsteps, slow and hesitant, as the door clicks shut and Prompto makes his way across the apartment.

 

Prompto stops in the doorway. Noct’s staring down at the floor, and when he senses the other daemon’s presence, he slowly lifts his head. Noctis is _nervous._ He’s terrified, and those goddamn instincts are kicking in _again._ He shouldn’t be waiting. He should’ve gone to sleep. The urge to quickly look away is damn near overwhelming.

 

Even in the darkness though, Noctis can make out the exhaustion etched into Prompto’s expression. He can see the way Prompto’s eyes burn through the darkness, though they’re dull and weary. Even Prompto’s posture is drawn back. He’s shrinking back against the wall, his arms wrapped around himself, tail swishing nervously.

 

“Hey, Noct,” Prompto says, quietly. “I… didn’t kill anyone today.”

 

“Yeah?” Noctis feels the panic in his stomach tighten, and he tells himself, firmly, _it’s worth it._

Who cares if he dies? He’d rather be with Prompto than alone and without him, and suddenly, the knot eases up a little. Noctis takes a deep breath, and the thought solidifies. He’s _nothing_ without Prompto. He’d been alone, lazy, uncaring about much of anything. Sure, Noct’s always been a bit of a pacifist, but it was never _really_ for the right reason.

 

Prompto gives him purpose.

 

“… that’s good,” Noctis says, realizing they’ve both fallen into silence. He shifts a little to the side, making room for Prompto. “… you wanna come here? And talk?”

 

Prompto hesitates for a moment, then he nods. He shuffles over and sits down on the edge of the bed, gingerly, careful to keep a good deal of space between them. It’s awkward, and the tension is rising thick between them. Noctis feels the panic rising in him, because Prompto _scares_ him, in that deep, instinctive sense that he can’t quite shake. He knows just how goddamn capable Prompto is of sucking his life away, if he gives him the chance.

 

Noctis swallows heavily, and he reaches a hand out, across the distance that’s holding them apart, and places his hand, gingerly, on Prompto’s thigh.

 

Prompto damn near jumps out of his skin. His eyes wide, he looks down at Noct’s hand, his eyes drifting, chasing back up over Noct’s extended arm, to his shoulder, finally meeting his eyes. There’s emotion swirling there, something bone-deep, threatening to overflow. “… Noct?” Prompto says, quietly, and the way his voice cracks and breaks, it almost ruins Noctis on the fucking spot.

 

“… I’m sorry,” Noct says, quietly, willing himself to stay steady. The words spill out, though, and then suddenly, he’s talking, saying _more._ “Prom, fuck. I… I’m not mad at _you,_ I never have been. I’m just…”

 

Noctis hesitates. He knows _what_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it. It feels like saying the words aloud, to Prompto, they’ll solidify his feelings. Will it change something? Anything? Everything? Noctis doesn’t know.

 

Prompto senses the hesitance. He’s lifting a hand of his own, though, carefully placing it over Noct’s, and this time, the urge to _run,_ to draw his hand back and push Prompto away, it’s not as strong.

 

“You don’t have to say anything, Noct,” Prompto says quietly. He looks down at their hands, and squeezes, and there’s a heavy press of emotion in that simply touch.

 

“Yeah, I do,” Noctis says, “… you’re stronger than I am, Prom. It’s kinda terrifying, y’know. If something goes wrong, I can’t…”

 

“I’ll get better,” Prompto says, quickly, and his grip on Noct’s hand tightens, intensifies. It’s been weeks since they’ve had any real contact, and that’s little more than a blink of an eye in their relationship, such a fleeting, short amount of time, but it still feels like _ages._ It feels like fucking lifetimes. “Nyx is helping me, and I _didn’t,_ I stopped, and I’ll learn so that it doesn’t happen again—”

 

“I know,” Noctis interrupts. He’s still fight back that instinct to run, but he’s _fighting_ it, damnit, and he believes himself, in this moment. “I’m here. I’m not going _anywhere,_ Prom, what’s the point of living forever if I can’t share it with you?”

 

Prompto falls silent. Their fingers are twined together now, and Prompto squeezes again, another rough touch, all desperate and needy. “… I _want_ to live forever with you, Noct. I don’t want anything more than that.”

 

“Me either,” Noctis admits. “… how do mortals do it? Love someone, knowing it’s gonna end?”

 

Prompto shrugs, and he manages the tiniest of smiles. It’s the first fucking time Noct’s seen him smile since all this happened, and fuck. He’s still scared, yeah. He’s still facing down the realization that Prompto can kill him, that _all_ it will take is one slip up, one time losing control, and he’ll be dead. But Prompto’s so much more than that.

 

Like this, sitting here together, Noctis realizes he’s forgotten all the _good_ things.

 

There’s been a hell of a lot of good.

 

Yeah, there’s been a lot of bad moments. There’s been heartbreak, Prompto running away, storms that nearly fucking ruined the entire city, fights and arguments and misunderstandings, and now _this._

 

Noctis realizes just how fucking soft he’s gotten, though, because the smile on Prompto’s face is melting his heart, making all the hurt seem distant, in the past, far enough away that it can’t hurt them here. The freckles on Prompto’s face are vivid patterns that he’s memorized over the years, and Noct _smiles,_ damnit.

 

“Maybe they don’t love the way we do,” Prompto says, quietly, finally. Their eyes meet, and Noctis feels a little less scared. Well, that’s not quite true. He’s terrified, in a way he can’t quite place. He thinks, though, that Prompto’s right.

 

“Be patient with me?” Noctis replies. He squeezes Prompto’s hand again, and then he’s scooting across the bed, closing the distance between them. He only draws his hand away to wrap his arms tightly around Prompto, tugging him into his chest. The embrace is still a little rough around the edges. Noct’s shoulders still tense up, and his body’s acting on muscle memory, remembering the way Prompto had _kissed_ him, had drawn the life up out of him. Noctis doesn’t really remember it, but it’s edged into his consciousness, the terror and the panic of almost dying.

 

“I’m trying to be,” Prompto mumbles. “It’s just hard, Noct. Everything feels _different.”_  He’s stiff, too, as if he’s holding back, but when Noctis doesn’t pull away, slowly, Prompto melts into him. His face nuzzles into Noct’s neck, and things stop hurting quite so much. It’s hard, and Noctis has to tell himself, firmly, to calm the fuck down, but he’s _managing._  

 

“My feelings aren’t different, Prom, I _love_ you,” Noctis says, and he’s telling _himself_ that as much as he’s fucking telling Prompto. It hurts, and his chest aches, but he doesn’t pull back, and he doesn’t withdraw, and slowly, Noctis relaxes, until they’re simply clinging to each other, held tight in an embrace after those weeks apart.

 

“I love you,” Prompto mumbles, his face pressed into Noct’s neck. His lips are wet, moving soft against Noct’s skin as he talks. It’s a burst of warmth in Noct’s chest, and it doesn’t chase away all the trauma and the shit that they’re trying to process, but it’s enough to dull it a little. It’s enough that Noctis can simply _enjoy_ this moment, the closeness, and the affection. There’s no denying, either, that this love of theirs, whatever it is, it’s not just about _sex,_ or the weird symbiotic relationship they’ve managed to create.

 

They’re just genuinely two idiot daemons in love.

 

They stay pressed like this for a while, Prompto simply with his face buried into Noct’s chest. Noct’s arms are tight around Prompto, and he doesn’t let go. Even when Prompto shifts, every now and then, little triggers going straight to Noct’s brain, telling him to _get the fuck away,_ he holds on.

 

He’s more than a shitty daemon, driven mad by instincts. They’re _more_ than that.

 

When Prompto finally lifts his head, it might have been minutes, or hours, or maybe it’s only been a few seconds. Time doesn’t work right, and Noctis doesn’t know. Outside, the rain is finally ceasing, and it’s late enough that it’s dark out, but the sky seems a touch brighter, like dark clouds aren’t quite so thick and stifling anymore.

 

“… you’re touching me,” Prompto points out, quietly,

 

Noctis doesn’t reply. He _hates_ all of this, and his heart is breaking at the fact that Prompto seems amazed by this. They’re both creatures of _touch,_ of physical pleasure and sex and everything that comes after that is just a product of chance. Hell, maybe it’s fate. Whatever it is, Noct’s realizing just how goddamn touch-starved he’s been.

 

So instead of trying to find the words, Noctis dips his head down and catches Prompto’s lips in a kiss. He half expects terror, horrible flashbacks of what he’d been through, but instead, it’s hot and it’s electricity, shooting all through his body. More than that, it’s _comforting._ Fuck, he’s missed Prompto. Something like a kiss shouldn’t feel so much like being at home again, after weeks away, lost, but that’s exactly what it is.

 

Prompto’s a little shy, a little more restrained than usual, and _that’s_ unfamiliar, but it’s still him all the same. It still tastes like Prompto, and he’s still all restless, gripping at Noct’s shoulder when the kiss parts, his eyes wide and gorgeous, the faintest flush spreading across freckled cheeks.

 

“Noct—” Prompto says, quietly, “I wanna, but I don’t want to freak you out—”

 

Noctis makes a decision, then and there. He can be fucking terrified by the fact that he might die someday. He can be horrified that his death might come from the one fucking person that gives him purpose in this eternal life they’re in. _Or,_ fuck it. He can accept it, and he can move on, and that’s what Nyx had told him, isn’t it?

 

“I’m not freaked out,” Noctis says, quickly, tugging Prompto down onto the bed with him, and going in for another kiss. This one’s harder, passionate, tongues curling together wetly. They’re both on their sides, and Prompto snuggles in close, arms curling around Noct’s neck. One of Noct’s hands settles at the small of Prompto’s back, dipping under his shirt, and their legs tangle together. Prompto gasps, his hips rocking forward into Noct’s, and of _course,_ they’re both getting high on the contact, on finally touching again, after so goddamn long. Prompto’s already half-hard, and Noctis realizes he’s partway there too.

 

“Want you, then,” Prompto mumbles, when the kiss parts, and that’s all the encouragement Noctis needs. He’s flipping them, pressing Prompto onto his back on the mattress, and he knees between his parted thighs, eyes glowing bright and amber as his hands set to work, skimming under Prompto’s shirt and tugging it off and aside.

 

Their sex is never dull, that’s certain. It varies, depending on moods. Sometimes it’s gentler, slow and deep and passionate. Other times, it turns rough and frenzied and desperate, and sometimes, it’s just outright kinky and _weird._

 

This isn’t sex though, and Noctis is absolutely aware of that.

 

“Noct…” Prompto’s voice is low, soft and desperate as Noctis dips his head down. He steals another kiss – this one a bit of a tease, little more than a drag of teeth across his lower lip – and then works his way down. It’s been _weeks,_ and Noct’s sating his desire, finally. It’s like the first day of sunshine after years of darkness, or some other silly, bad metaphor. Whatever it is, he’s slow and purposeful.

 

Noct’s lips are damn near reverent as they trail down Prompto’s jaw. He pauses to nip at Prompto’s ear, and Prompto gasps and bucks his hips up in response, his fingers gripping rough at the back of Noct’s neck. Noctis laughs, quietly, and nuzzles in.

 

“Patience, love,” and the word isn’t lost on Prompto. Goddamn, they’re so _domestic,_ so goddamn _human_ at this point, that some greater power should just come and take their horns and their tails and powers and be done with it. Fuck, that would almost make things _simpler,_ wouldn’t it?

 

“You know I have no patience,” Prompto points out, and they both laugh a little, as Noctis nuzzles into Prompto’s throat and layers kisses there, because yeah, they do both know it.

 

Noct’s on a mission, though. He hasn’t touched Prompto in weeks. They’ve been together so goddamn long that he still has every part of him memorized, yeah, but he’s taking his sweet time getting reacquainted with the taste of Prompto’s skin, with the patterns of the freckles that line his shoulders, and the dip of his clavicle as he drags his tongue along the ridge of it.

 

Prompto sighs, and rocks his hips up, but Noct’s still slow and purposeful. He works heated kisses down the center of Prompto’s chest, pausing to lavish hot drags of his tongue over each nipple, working them into stiff, erect peaks. Noct’s tongue teases the piercings through each nipple, and Prompto _gasps,_ fingers tangling in Noct’s hair and tugging, a little rough, a whole lot encouraging.

 

Prompto’s a total overstimulated, needy mess by the time Noctis works down his belly. He drags his tongue over the defined lines of his abdomen, and pauses to gently tug at one of the surface piercings on his hip with his teeth, just a light little tease. Prompto’s breath hitches, and his hips rock up, and the front of his pants is damp where the tip of his cock is spreading through the fabric.

 

“Noct,” Prompto sighs. Noctis lifts his head away – after licking another stripe over the curve of his pelvis – and glances up, and Prompto’s head is tossed back. His hair’s a tangled mess around his horns, and his cheeks are flushed, and he’s so needy that the pink tinge has spread down his neck and over his shoulders. It’s goddamn _gorgeous._

 

“Prom,” Noctis repeats, his lover’s name a mantra, and he dips his head down again, pressing wet kisses right over the fabric of his pants, teasing along the band, down to nuzzle into his cock right through his pants. Prompto whines, and when his hips arch up off the bed, Noct’s fingers are quick to work under and tug his pants down and off, tossing them aside.

 

Noctis doesn’t touch right away, though. He sits back on his heels to simply _admire,_ and he’s rewarded by the sight of Prompto staring up at him through lidded eyes, brimming at the edges with unshed tears. There’s a moment where his breath’s taken away, where Noctis realizes that this fucking wondrous creature underneath him is _his,_ and that he’ll probably be the fucking death of him, but he doesn’t _care._

 

“Want you,” Prompto mumbles, arching his hips up, showing off his full, aching cock, leaking against his belly, the glimpse of ass underneath, his thighs spreading wider, enticing and waiting.

 

“Need you,” Noctis corrects, with a quiet laugh, and then he’s wasting no time in getting his own shirt off, kicking his pants off as well. Prompto’s eyes follow, honing on the ripple of Noct’s muscle as he tosses his clothes aside, and he practically fucking dives back in, pressing their bodies together as he sprawls over Prompto.

 

At some point, Noct’s idea of slow, passionate, _worshipful_ sex switches into something more urgent. It’s probably the hot press of their bare skin against each other. They’ve both been without this for too long, and something in Noctis snaps. Maybe it’s better this way, because there’s none of that anxiety, none of that fear that this is going to go horribly wrong.

 

Whatever it is, Noct’s kissing Prompto, deep and desperate, and they both sigh as their cocks press together. Prompto’s arms are curled tight, and he lifts up, hooking a leg around Noct’s waist, drawing him close, so their skin is pressed together, flush, as close as they fucking can be without merging into one.

 

It’s nice, too, being an incubus, because Noctis leans in, pressing their foreheads together. He nuzzles into Prompto’s cheek, trails kisses over his freckles, over his jaw, across the shell of a pierced ear, until his lips find the base of Prompto’s horns. They’ve been paler than usual, but _now?_ They’re already beginning to shine brighter, some of the colour returning. Fuck.

 

“Love you,” Noctis mumbles, and he doesn’t _need_ to say it, but he does. Their tails tangle, and Prompto hikes his other leg up, lifting his hips, and when Noctis reaches down between their legs, positioning, Prompto’s relaxed and _waiting._ Noctis slides in with one steady, solid thrust, burying to the hilt, and Prompto gasps and tosses his head back and clenches around him all hot and needy.

 

Noctis thinks, vaguely, that Prompto’s trying to speak, but his face is pressed into Noct’s hair, and all that he can make out are desperate, needy sounds as they begin to move together. Noct’s hips roll in lazy, slow thrusts, and he _does_ intend to keep it slow and gentle and passionate, but they always get lost in each other. It shifts, as Prompto lifts up, as he pivots his hips upward. Noctis knows the angle’s perfect, and Prompto cries out, head tipping back against the pillows when Noct hits his prostate.

 

The world melts away around them, and it’s simply the slap of skin on skin, the hot sensation of Prompto gripping at his cock, drawing him deeper, as their bodies work together. Prompto hitches his leg up a little higher, crying out at the better angle, and Noctis slips deeper. His balls are slapping Prompto’s ass, and they’re both sweaty messes, clinging together. Prompto’s face buries in his neck, and Noct’s not sure if the wetness is sweat or tears, or maybe it’s both. Probably, it’s both, because his own eyes are burning, and he doesn’t know why, he just knows that he feels _complete._ He’s missed this. All this time, and fuck, maybe he’s taken Prompto for granted.

 

It's one of those rare times where they both come together, where it all falls into place at the same time. Noctis drives forward, deep and hard, and Prompto’s heels dig into his lower back. Their tails are curled together, and one of Prompto’s arms is around his neck, the other is gripping desperately at one of Noct’s curved horns. Prompto cries out, the angle just right, the slick head of Noct’s cock pressing just the right place, delicious friction inside, and then he’s clenching and coming hard, trapped between their bellies. It pulls Noct with him, and his hips still, one hand braced against the bed, the other reaching frantically to cup Prompto’s cheek, to tug his face in to kiss him, desperate and needy. Noctis comes inside of Prompto, and they ride it out together, holding each other, clinging, all tangled and messy and spent, as they ride out the feeling of finally being complete again.

 

Noctis doesn’t say anything for a long time, though he eventually withdraws. He shifts to move to the side, but Prompto’s legs are still wrapped around him, and an arm tightens around his shoulders, pulling him down, until he’s sprawled heavily on top.

 

“Stay,” Prompto mumbles.

 

So Noctis stays, his cheek pressed into Prompto’s sweat-slicked chest. His heart’s thumping in his chest – another impossible little detail – and his fingers itch, creeping across Prompto’s skin, under Prompto reaches for his hand, their fingers twining together.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Noctis promises. The tip of Prompto’s tail thumps against his thigh, where it’s curled with his, and Noctis smiles, lazily. He’s still not over it. He doesn’t know if he’ll _ever_ be over it, and fuck, there’s still a tiny part of him that wants to run like hell. Noct’s more than that, though. He’s more than these stupid daemonic instincts, and fuck, he knows Prompto is, too. They’re better than this.

 

The rain’s stopped, outside, Noctis realizes, but it’s a distant, secondary thought, because Prompto’s smiling lazily, and squeezing his hand, and pulling him closer, and for the moment, they’re okay. They’ll figure this out. They’ll work through it, and if this is his downfall? Noctis will welcome it.

 

And, he realizes, another lazy, distant thought, as they start to drift off, sated, their horns bright again, their eyes vibrant, even lidded and lazily sliding shut, their ‘anniversary’ is coming up, and Nyx _had_ mentioned Luna’s dogs seemed to help her.

 

Maybe he can steal the idea for Prompto, too. It’s a thought. It might even help. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this AU. I love it so much I want to scream it from the fucking rooftops.  
> Today's art was [absolutely fucking perfect](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/920159352052260864). I love working with my bestest friend Numi, she is the heart and soul behind this fic. I love her, and these boys, and i'm crying. ;;  
> I'm on twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree. Numi is @numinoceur. <3


	18. Temporary Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto gets a bit of what he deserves. And then a bit of what he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Day 17. We're past the halfway point now!   
> Back to some real kink, and a bit of plotbunny~   
> Today's kinks: spanking, collaring, leashes, biting, and some cockrings/edging! yassssss i had FUN.

They’ve been through a lot lately.

 

Noctis had pondered on that, as Prompto woke him with hot, lazy kisses, trailing all down his jaw, nipping at a sensitive spot over his pulse point. They’re lying in bed, after a nice, luxurious afternoon nap. Prompto’s been waking him with those kisses lately, all sprawled hot and heavy over him, and it’s been _nice._

 

Fuck, they’ve come a long way since those first, early days.

 

Noctis is trying to deny that they’re going soft, but when he wakes up to lips on his neck, fingers tangling with his, or with the slow, steady press of Prompto’s cock into him, it’s hard to deny that it’s less lust and frantic need, more passion and _love._

Today, at least, has twisted into something more familiar.

 

Noct’s very pleased, as he surveys the scene before him. Prompto’s on his belly, ass jutting up in the air, and he’s equal parts pleased and needy. Noctis _knows_ Prompto loves putting himself on display like this, and he knows he looks fucking amazing. It’s apparent by the press of Noct’s cock into his thigh as he hovers over him.

 

“You gonna be good?” Noctis teases. He knows, of course, that Prompto can’t offer up a real response though, not with the ballgag that’s spreading his lips wide and open. It’s fastened in a thick, leather strap behind his head, and yeah, he’s not handcuffed, Prompto _could_ pull it off, but why would he?

 

That’d ruin half the fun.

 

They’ve been increasingly vanilla lately, and they’d both noticed it. Hell, this was all Prompto’s idea. It usually is. Prompto had woken him up with his usual heavy kisses, grinding his half-hard cock into Noct’s belly as he hovered over him. When Noctis had opened his eyes though, adjusting to the dim, early-morning light, Prompto had been wearing the damn collar, a black leather choker that’s adjusted to be just a _little_ too tight across his throat. It’s gonna leave nice, red lines behind, when he finally takes it off, though _removing_ it is the last thing on Noct’s mind.

 

Prompto looks tearfully over his shoulder. His eyes are wide and desperate, lashes wet with tears, and he nods slowly. His fingers are gripping at the sheets, and Noctis laughs in response. He’s perched on his knees behind Prompto’s lifted, exposed ass. In one hand, he’s got a chain leash, attached at the end to the heavy collar that’s half-choking the other incubus. Noct’s other hand is lazily stroking across the delicious, smooth curve of Prompto’s ass, fingers digging in occasionally, making Prompto wince and whimper and _buck_ into the touch.

 

He’s fully hard, and his cock’s leaking, but Noct’s already taken care of _that._ He drags his eyes down, along the cleft of Prompto’s ass, over his trembling entrance – just waiting to be taken – down the smooth skin of his perineum and the hang of his closely-drawn balls. Noct’s eyes narrow and he smirks, something hungry and excited, at the sight of Prompto’s nicely wrapped up cock. He’s pretty pleased of himself there, too, because there’s four thick black rings constricting his needy erection. The largest of the rings is nestled right at the base of his shaft, tight around his balls, too. The other three adorn his shaft in beautiful black spirals, snug against his thick erection, the final ring tucked right under the ridged head of his cock. It’s got Prompto painfully hard, and he’s been held on the edge now, for a while. His cock’s slick with precome, drooling from the tip, and it’s a very _nice_ view, one that’s certainly trying Noct’s patience.

 

Luckily, lazy and well-rested and content from their hunt earlier, Noct’s got plenty of patience.

 

“Didn’t hear a response,” Noctis says, with a quiet laugh, knowing full and damn well that Prompto _can’t_ reply when he’s got his mouth stuffed full of a gag. “Gonna be good?”

 

Prompto makes a whining noise, and rocks his hips back. Noctis _tugs,_ rough at the leash, jerking Prompto’s head to the side, and his free hand _cracks_ down, rough and heavy across the beautiful, flawless swell of Prompto’s ass. Prompto keens, making a desperate, muffled sound, and the tears brimming in his eyes spill over, running down his flush, freckled cheeks.

 

“ _Still_ not a reply,” Noct teases, and Prompto tenses, anticipating the smack before it happens. Noctis takes his sweet time, massaging his fingers into the red handprint spreading across Prompto’s ass, before he lifts his hand away. The second crack of his palm over Prompto’s ass is _harder._ It pushes Prompto’s face into the mattress, and his fingers frantically dig in, fisting at the sheets. His cock is twitching and bobbing in the air, another sticky strand of precome leaking from the flushed, swollen head, and Noctis _swears,_ Prompto would have already came if it wasn’t for the cockrings holding him there, on the edge.

 

Noctis cracks his hand over Prompto’s ass a few more times, until the skin is all flushed red and heat radiates off him when Noctis lazily traces slow patterns feather-light over one sore cheek. The contrasting sensations has Prompto squirming, awkward and uncertain, first pulling away some, then immediately missing the contact and wiggling back into Noct’s grip. He looks painfully hard, and his cheeks are wet and shiny with tears now.

 

“Guess you’ve learned,” Noct says, with another of those quiet laughs, and he gives the leash another little _tug,_ pulling at Prompto’s head, until his back is arched in a delicious curve, red, swollen ass jutting higher in the air. Prompto whines his response, and he wiggles his ass, lazy and inviting. Noct’s pretty sure Prompto would be moaning, if it weren’t for the ball gag in his mouth, when he grips at his hips, rough, tugging his ass higher in the air. It leaves Prompto on his elbows, his cheek pressed into the mattress, his ass pushed uncomfortably high.

 

They don’t need the lube, not really, but sometimes it’s nice to tease Prompto, and right now, Noct’s lazily working two lube-slicked fingers into his lover’s ass. He teases the tight rim of his entrance for a moment, tracing a thumb over the swollen muscle, watching as Prompto trembles and tries to buck into the contact. Noct doesn’t torture him for long though, working the two fingers deep, crooking them hard against his prostate. That, of course, is cruel in itself, because Prompto keens and whines and writhes, his cock twitching and swelling underneath the ring holding him achingly hard and uncomfortable.

 

Noctis adds a third finger, all delicious, twisted pressure into Prompto’s prostate, working them deep and spreading his ass open wide and sloppy. Prompto’s breath hitches and it sounds a little like he’s sobbing when Noctis leans in, dragging his tongue along Prompto’s stretched rim as he fucks his fingers into him. Noct’s starting to get a little impatient, too, his cock twitching and eager against his own belly, but it’s so _nice_ to reduce Prompto into a mess of need, honestly.

 

And okay, Noctis tends to power-trip a little.

 

He pulls his fingers back, and wrenches hard on the leash, snapping Prompto’s neck back, dragging his face up off the mattress. Prompto gasps, and whines, as Noct hooks an arm around his waist, tugging him upright, until he’s up on his knees. Noct’s kneeling behind Prompto, lazily rocking his aching cock into the curve of Prompto’s hot, swollen ass, hand stroking across his belly and holding him steady, the other hand twined around the chain of the leash, tugging it taut, putting enough pressure on Prompto’s collared throat that his breath doesn’t come easily, that he has to take deep, gulping breaths to get enough air.

 

“You make a pretty pet,” Noctis teases, his lips tracing over the shell of a pierced ear. Noct nuzzles into Prompto’s hair, enjoying the responding _moan_ that shudders through him. His fingers splay heavier across the defined planes of Prompto’s toned belly, silently admiring the ripple of muscle, dipping into his navel to tease with a feathery-light touch. Prompto’s back is pressed flush against Noct’s chest, and he’s shaking, his head tipping back to rest on his shoulder. One hand’s reaching back to grip at Noct’s hip, holding himself steady. Prompto’s about ready to collapse again, and Noct’s pleased. He knows, too, that Prompto’s free hand is itching to touch himself, but Prompto _knows_ better. Instead, Prompto trails his hand down his own belly, settling it over Noct’s, squeezing – a brief, fleeting moment of comfort and affection, before it turns again.

 

“Mine,” Noct says, and there’s a bit of endearment in the words, as he tips his head, nuzzling into Prompto’s soft, blonde spikes, before he’s moving again. His lips drag over Prompto’s horns, tongue tracing the spiraled, textured segments, teasing and lazy. Prompto gasps around the ballgag, and his head’s lolled back, saliva pooling at the corner of his lips and running messily down his chin.

 

Noct could do this all day, but when he tugs hard at the leash again, it drives the swell of Prompto’s ass back, Noct’s cock slipping into the lube-slicked cleft of his ass, teasing the heavy, veined underside with delicious friction. It’s driving him insane, and there’s a moment where Noctis loses control. He ruts his cock hard into the curve of Prompto’s ass, fingers on his belly clenching and tightening and digging into his abs. Noct’s lips find Prompto’s shoulder, and he bites in _hard,_ right at the juncture of neck and shoulder, teeth breaking the skin and sinking into tendon and muscle and even though Prompto’s choked and gagged, the _scream_ Noct gets in response is barely even fucking muffled.

 

It’s so goddamn hot, and Noctis snaps. He bite down again, on Prompto’s shoulder, and again, at the back of his neck, tasting copper blood and leaving rough, red marks that will swell up and blossom into delicious reminders.

 

His fingers move to grip one hip, and when his fingers tug and roll over the studs lining the curve of pelvis, Prompto trembles and his cock twitches heavily. Noctis releases the leash, gives Prompto a playful little shove, a bit rougher than it needs to be, and his lover goes down into a tangled him on the bed. His ass lifts, and Noct settles behind him, tugging up at Prompto’s hips, getting him up on his knees, though his face is half-buried into the blankets.

 

Prompto is _his._

 

The thought’s a mantra, and Noctis grips rough at Prompto’s ass, the leash still wrapped around his hand, spreading him open and wide. His cock’s already slick with lube, and Noctis strokes the thick, swollen head over Prompto’s ass, teasing his entrance in little circles, laughing as Prompto’s hips jerk and his ass bucks back, all involuntary movement, needy and desperate.

 

Prompto makes a sound that _seems_ like it could be muffled begging, but it’s hard to tell, because the gag’s still spreading his lips wide and muffling everything. The sound goes right to Noct’s erection, though, and, one hand gripping rough at a red, swollen cheek, the other guiding his cock inside, Noct _slams_ his hips forward.

 

He’s inside with one swift, deep thrust, going all the way to the hilt, his balls nestled up against the swell of Prompto’s ass. Prompto _keens,_ makes the most delicious, needy noise, and he’s rocking back, trying to draw Noctis impossibly deeper. His hands are fisted into the sheets and the leash is drawn tight, pulling his head back just a little, just enough to be awkward and uncomfortable and make it that much harder to breathe.

 

Noctis stays still, just for a moment, but for the minute little trembles of his thighs, as he admires the scene. Prompto looks _good_ like this. He’s shaking all over, barely managing to stay up on his knees and elbows. His body’s bent at a delicious angle, the smooth curve of his spine a wonderful map for Noct’s tongue and fingers. Prompto’s all freckles, all beautiful skin that’s marred with bruises and bitemarks, and his eyes are wide, brimming with tears, cheeks and chin wet with saliva from where his lips are being kept trapped open. His hair’s a mess, and his horns are vibrant, bright pink and blue and swirls of purple.

 

And fuck, Noct squeezes Prompto’s ass wider, and the lewd sight in front of him is even _better._ Prompto’s split wide and open around his cock, his rim raw and puff, his cheeks cherry-red, stll hot to the touch, covered in hand prints. Noct hisses, satisfied, and begins to _move,_ and it’s rough and frantic, everything he fucked hoped.

 

Noct’s only regret about the gag is that he can’t hear Prompto _scream,_ not properly, not the way he knows he wants to. Prompto’s writhing and breathing heavily, hips desperately pressing back with every rough, deep thrust. Noct stays upright behind him, on his knees, hands keeping Prompto’s ass spread open and wide, and the angle lets him go deep, buried all the way, his balls slapping against Prompto’s skin with each violent thrust.

 

When Noctis gets the angle right – and he knows how to get it right, knows the other incubus inside and out – Prompto collapses rough against the bed. His hips are rocking wildly, back and forth, no real rhythm to it, and he rides out a dry orgasm, the rings keeping him from a _real,_ proper release. The momentum drags Noctis forward, and he collapses over Prompto, a hand braced on the bed to keep from squishing him.

 

“Fuck, Prom,” Noct can’t think of anything better to say, because it’s _good,_ deep and urgent. Prompto’s clenched so tight around him, whining behind the gag with every roll of Noct’s hips. The angle shifted, Noctis is fucking into Prompto slow and deep, rolling his hips, grinding down and moaning every time Prompto clenches tight around him. The leash pulls tight again, drawing Prompto’s head back, and Noct leans in, _bites_ again, spreads more of those fucking delicious marks all over his skin.

 

Prompto’s blissed out and overstimulated, and Noctis doesn’t really care. He fucks him harder, under his hips are pressing Prompto’s down into the bed, until his lover’s trapped, Noct’s cock deep in his ass, drilling into his prostate, the blankets on the bed teasing and tangling his oversensitive, tied erection. Noct’s pretty sure that if Prompto could talk, he’d be _begging_ him to take the rings off, to let him come, and that’s a swell of pride. It has Noctis achingly hard, his pace picking up as he pounds Prompto properly into the mattress, his lips still kissing and biting and nipping every inch of skin he can reach.

 

Prompto’s whole body goes taut and his muscles clench, and he grips down on Noct’s cock hard enough that it almost _hurts,_ when Noct’s hand works underneath, starts jerking Prompto’s erection. It pulls awkwardly on the leash, tugs his head back down and to the side, and his face is wet and messy with saliva and pressed rough into the sheets. Prompto’s harder than Noct’s felt him in _ages,_ his whole length throbbing, red and angry, the array of cockrings tight against his stiff, heated flesh. The tip is wet, and Noct swirls the pads of his fingers over the tip, and he laughs against Prompto’s ear when his lover’s hips jerk in response.

 

Prompto’s fisting at the blankets when his cock twitches again, leaking heavy beads of precome. He’s on that edge again, with Noctis working into him, splitting him open with those slow, deep thrusts, the ones that are putting so much pressure in just the right place. Noctis is being outright cruel, keeping Prompto there, purposely pushing him into overstimulated territory, so close to release, but restrained. All Prompto can do is jut his ass back, pressing back as Noct works him open, gasping and making wet, needy noises behind the gag, hips rocking forward into the hand that’s working around his dripping cock. It’s so fucking hot, and really goddamn needy, the way Prompto’s lost in it, desperately moving with Noctis, his eyes wild and blissed out, a steady flush spreading all over him.

 

Prompto rides out a second dry orgasm, and this time, the noises are _desperate,_ muffled and wild, his eyes scrunching shut and his whole body drawing tight. His fingers fist the sheets hard enough to rip them, and Noctis keeps fucking him through the sound of fabric ripping, through the blissed out, desperate sounds that keep keening in his throat. Prompto’s cock twitches and bobs and spurts a thin, weak strand of semen over his fingers, even against the cock rings, and the whole thing is way too fucking much for Noct to take.

 

Noct’s erection twitches and he grinds his hips steadily. He’s buried deep, rocking in circular motions, and he gives up on trying to keep himself upright. Face pressed in between Prompto’s sweat covered shoulder blades, chest and belly pressed into the curve of Prompto’s back, his balls grinding against his lover’s ass, Noct lets go. He makes it another few deep, needy thrusts and then he’s coming, filling Prompto up. It’s an explosive orgasm, the room full of electric energy, the rush of _power_ as they feed off each other, as he draws from Prompto with lips pressed into his shoulder, biting down again, hard and heavy and urgent.

 

Prompto _whines_ through it, the leash in Noct’s fingers still drawn tight, making it hard to breathe. He rocks back against Noct’s cock, still spurting and twitching in him, filling him with heat, and with each forward roll again, his cock’s getting caught against the wet blankets, dragging over flesh that’s _way_ too sensitive.

 

Noctis only collapses against Prompto for a few moments, long enough to ride the waves of his orgasm. His lips are mumbling, sweet nothings, words that don’t make sense, his hips twitching and jerking as he makes a final bit of mess. Finally, weakly, he reaches for the clasp at the back of Prompto’s head, fingers trembling as he releases the ball gag.

 

Prompto spits it from his mouth and gasps harshly for air, whole body trembling, and when he speaks, his voice is rough,  thick with need, from being gagged and choked for so long.

 

_“Noct, please,”_ he manages, face pressed into the sheets, and that’s all the encouragement Noctis needs.

 

Noct rolls heavily to his side, withdrawing from Prompto, mess dribbling down his thighs as he tugs him around. His fingers are deft, only trembling a little as he tugs the cockrings off, one at a tip. Prompto’s gasping and writhing, his hips bucking into the teasing little touches, sighing as he’s freed. His head tips back, resting heavily against Noct’s shoulder, his eyes lidded, half-open, watching himself in the mirror as Noctis curls his fingers around Prompto’s cock. His other hand’s wrapped around the leash again, tugging, putting pressure on Prompto’s throat and cutting at his air supply. They don’t _need_ to breathe, and it’s not like he’s fully choking him, but it’s a little heady rush, something that makes Prompto whine urgently.

 

“Fuck, Noct—” Prompto manages, before all words fail him.

 

It only takes a few rough, heavy strokes of Prompto’s cock, flush and hard against his belly, before he’s coming. It’s an intense orgasm, Prompto’s head tossing back into Noct’s shoulder as he comes hard, all the way up his heaving chest and over Noct’s fingers, hips jerking, every muscle drawn tight and rigid as he bucks into it. Noctis watches, amber eyes narrowed and intent and swirling as he stares at Prompto’s reflection in the goddamn mirror, at how gorgeous he looks, drawn tight, cock twitching, wet mess trickling down his still-hard shaft and spattered across his freckled skin.

 

Prompto doesn’t talk for a long time. He makes quiet, needy sounds, and he twitches and trembles and rocks into the fingers still working his cock, until finally, he reaches down, pawing Noct’s hand away from his overstimulated flesh. His eyes are bright and vivid, and his horns are splashes of colour against his messy blonde hair. Noctis doesn’t move them, even as Prompto relaxes against his chest, presses back against him. His hand settles warm and heavy on Prompto’s hip, teasing the line of piercings – Prompto whining and writhing more in response – and Noctis kisses, slow and lazy, over the line of bite marks he’s left.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto manages, most eloquently, after a while. He’s lifting a trembling hand to work the clasp of the collar wrapped snug around his neck, and when he finally pulls it away, there’s a thick red line cut into his skin. Noctis tips his head, presses feather-light kisses over the mark, and it makes Prompto squirm and smile lazily.

 

“Good?” Noctis asks, with a laugh, even though he knows the answer. Prompto nods sleepily, and snuggles back closer. Noctis watches, through lidded eyes. They’re basking in a delicious, warm afterglow, everything golden and warm and perfect. Even though they’re messy, covered in sex and sweat, the contact is nice, and watching themselves, both blissed out and content, is a little warm jolt settling happily in Noct’s belly, in place of where the knot of lust was twisting before.

 

“You look different,” Noctis muses, idly, looking at the mirror, his gaze only half-seeing. There’s something _off._ It’s not a bad off, it simply… _is,_ and Noctis can’t quite figure it out. It’s silly, because they’ve had hundreds of years together, and they look… well, pretty much the same. They’re incubi, after all. Noctis has memorized the swirls and patterns of Prompto’s freckles, the rise of his cheekbones, the way his hair curls wet at the base of his neck after sex. He nuzzles his cheek lazily into the spiral of a horn, and Prompto shudders, and snuggles closer.

 

“Hope it’s a good different,” Prompto mumbles, sleepily, with a throaty laugh. His voice is still thick, his jaw sore and aching from the gag.

 

“Always good,” Noctis points out, with a laugh. He tips his head again, pressing a kiss behind Prompto’s ear. “Well, except for when you’re flooding the city.”

 

“Not fair, Noct,” Prompto groans, but he’s laughing, head tipping to the side, giving more room for Noctis to drag his tongue over the shell of his ear, teeth playing lazily with the piercings. Prompto’s still trembling, his body quaking and shivering as he comes down further, as the endorphins fade, as he drifts out of that delicious post-sex buzz he’s been floating on. His shivers intensify, and Noct’s quick to shift back, reaching behind him for the blankets, drawing them up over their sweaty bodies. Prompto shivers, and snuggles down closer, tucking himself in the crook between Noct’s neck and shoulder, making himself warm and safe there.

 

“You okay?” Noctis asks, voice still low, gentle and reassuring. Prompto’s tail is curled with his, and their legs are tangled. Prompto doesn’t reply at first, but he carefully eases himself around – wincing as he does – so that he can tuck his face neatly under Noct’s chin.

 

“… yeah,” Prompto says, after a silence, his breath a hot puff against Noct’s skin. He’d hesitated, and Noct notices it, but he doesn’t push further. His hands are stroking up Prompto’s back, tracing over the curve of his spine, up to his shoulder blades. Noct’s fingers massage into the tension gathered at the base of Prompto’s neck, careful as they brush over the bite marks he’s left – they’ll heal fast, but now they’re still red and sore – all gentle touches. Prompto sighs, content, as Noct works back down, kneading gently into his lower back, right over the base of his tail.

 

“Feels good,” Prompto mumbles, and when Noctis tips his head down, Prompto lifts up a little to meet him. Their lips brush, slow and lazy, tongues tangling together for a moment. Noct draws back, and their foreheads press together, and he spends a long moment simply staring into Prompto’s eyes. Yeah, something’s different, something is just _slightly_ off, but he can’t place it—

 

“Love you,” Noctis says, instead, lifting a hand, cupping Prompto’s cheek and drawing him in for another kiss, this one chaste and gentle. Prompto rolls his eyes, but his lips are totally twitching, quirking upwards against Noct’s.

 

“You’re sappy, Noct,” Prompto points out when they part, and he ducks his head down again, bangs falling over his eyes as he snuggles up close to Noctis again, an arm hooking around his neck. “The sex wasn’t even _that_ rough, you don’t need to take care of me.”

 

“Obviously, I don’t _need_ to,” Noctis points out, tugging Prompto a little closer. They’re warm and content like this, both of them, even if Prompto’s trying to deny it. Noct can feel how his breathing’s starting to even out. The trembling that Prompto would vehemently deny has stopped, too, and he’s relaxed, pressed up close. “I just want to take care of you.”

 

“… should let me take care of _you_ too, then,” Prompto says, quietly, so quiet that Noctis almost misses the words. They’re whispered against his skin, and then Prompto’s tipping his head to the side, closing his eyes, and going still in a way that tells Noctis _not_ to press it. Sometimes, Prompto’s still so guarded, after all these years. It’s funny, because he wears his emotions on his sleeve—or, rather, in the open sky—and the weather gives him away, every time. Some part of Prompto though… they’re still a mystery. His power, where he comes from, what he’s _thinking_ sometimes… it’s all lost on Noct.

 

It’s nice, though. It’s a little piece of his boyfriend that Noctis still has to discover, one that he’s damn well aware he may _never_ figure out.

 

“Can I get you anything?” Noctis asks, instead, even as his own eyes slip shut, and he’s drifting off to the dream world, only one foot left in the waking one. “… water? Food?”

 

Prompto yawns, and shakes his head, just a little. “… naw. You?”

 

“Could use some food,” Noctis admits, with a sleepy laugh, “… after a nap, though. This is nice.”

 

Prompto makes a sleepy sound. “Yeah, s’nice,” he agrees, and then, as Noctis presses his lips into the top of Prompto’s head, they both fall asleep. Noct’s last thought is that he’s figured it out – Prompto’s horns, they look _different –_ but he doesn’t voice it in time, because then he’s gone, sleeping.

 

\---

 

Noctis wakes up, briefly, when Prompto shakes his shoulder. It’s not the way Prompto _usually_ wakes him up. Normally, it’s with lips around his cock, or with Prompto’s thighs straddling his face. Noct likes being woken up like _that_ better than this shaking nonsense.

 

“Hey, sleepy,” Prompto says with a smirk, leaning in to steal a kiss, one that’s sloppy because Noct’s barely conscious of it happening. “I’m getting you snacks. Pizza and chips?”

 

“Mmmph,” Noctis mumbles. His mind isn’t quite caught up with what’s happening around them, and his limbs feel heavy. He tries to roll onto his stomach, to bury his face in the pillow, but Prompto’s straddling his waist, his weight keeping him pinned down.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto’s voice has a hint of a whine to it, “c’mon. Tell me what you want. I’m gonna get snacks, you can sleep again once I leave.”

 

Snacks? Noct’s mind sort of processes that, in a bleary, vague kind of way. Prompto really should’ve just woken him up with a blow job, that would’ve been more effective.

 

“… sodas?” he mumbles, “mm, and those… things I like.”

 

“Things? That’s helpful, idiot,” Prompto laughs and dips down for another kiss. His bangs tickle Noct’s nose and his cheeks, and he laughs and squirms a little, lifting a heavy hand to push at Prompto’s chest, just a playful shove, one that’s absolutely not effective.

 

“The gummy candies,” Noctis groans, and that’s not much better, but Prompto grins and laughs and it seems like that’s explanation enough. After all, they’ve been together a _long_ time. They know each other.

 

“Mmmkay. Go back to sleep, lazy,” Prompto says, and Noctis closes his eyes and snuggles down into the pillow, as Prompto crawls off the bed, the mattress shifting from the loss of weight. He’s totally got another hour or so of sleep, and then Prompto will be climbing all over him again, but Noct will take what he can get.

 

When Noctis wakes up, though, it’s not to Prompto climbing over him. It’s not to the front door opening, or to a warm set of lips wrapped around him, teasing his cock back to full hardness. It’s… well, it’s either the rough howl of wind that’s rattling the windows, or the jolt of pain that’s searing right through Noctis.

 

Pain? That’s not something that’s supposed to happen.

 

Noct sits upright in bed, his eyes going all wild and wide. Prompto’s not here. That much is certain. The bed is empty. The whole apartment is empty. At some point, Squishy had migrated onto the bed, and he’s sleeping on Prompto’s pillow. He’s stirring a little, as Noctis frantically glances around the room. There’s a deep throbbing in his temple, and it’s spreading, tendrils of pain snaking through him. _Everything_ hurts. His head is the worst, yeah, but Noct’s back aches and creaks and his arms feel like they’re broken, and when his tail swishes, agitated, it feels like it’s been snapped in two.

 

Noctis reaches for his phone, and it’s been several hours. Prompto’s _gone._ He’s not here, and Noctis hurts, and it has to be because of Prompto—

 

The wind rattles the windows violently, and Noct’s attention snaps to the side. Outside, it’s _white,_ and he realizes, after a moment of staring, that it’s because there’s a wall of snow coming down from the sky in rough, harsh spirals that beat against the glass. It’s _snowing._ It’s a total fucking blizzard out there. It’s autumn, and it’d been a nice morning. Cool, yes, but bright and promising to be a normal day.

 

Something’s happened to Prompto.

 

Noctis knows it, instantly, and it’s not just because of the pain shooting through him – pain that _isn’t his own –_ or because of the window. He’s connected to Prompto, in some new way, in something they can’t quite understand, and he _feels_ it. It’s instinct, and it’s horrible. Noctis reaches for his phone, he has to call Nyx, and he’s climbing up out of bed, because he has to fix this, and _now._

Everything is going horribly wrong, all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sorry. <3  
> see you tomorrow!


	19. Never Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the other times Prompto gets pierced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Day 18. How are we still alive? I'm not sure. I'm really not.  
> Breaking up the angst from yesterday with some kink! Remember the last time Prompto got pierced? Well, here's the follow up to that. 8)  
> Today's kinks: piercings, nipple play, leather/glove kink, and facesitting. Ahh. It's a nice day.

Prompto has a love-hate thing with piercings.

 

Well, it’s mostly love. There’s only a bit of hate. He likes to blame Noctis for the ‘hate’ aspect, though. Noctis vehemently denies that any of this is his fault, of course. It’s… _debatable._ They’ve got a history, though, and there’s one very specific incident that stands out.

 

\---

 

It starts the way it usually starts with these idiots.

 

Noctis had been enjoying his morning. They had a nice meal last night, and then they’d come home and fucked for a while, Noctis settled back on the couch and Prompto in his lap, riding him hard. Eventually they’d made it to bed, and Noctis had gotten a nice, long nap in. He’d been planning on sleeping through the day. But instead, Prompto had waltzed in and woken him up and dragged him out of bed, and now Noctis is going _crazy._

 

“C’mere,” Noct whines. He’s sitting on the couch, and Prompto’s putting on one teasing hell of a show in front of him.

 

“Nope,” Prompto says, with a laugh. He’s swaying in front of Noctis, tugging his shirt up his stomach slowly, dragging the fabric across his skin and showing off a nice stripe of toned abdomen. “I tried to wake you up this morning, and you wouldn’t get out of bed.”

 

“I’m out of bed now,” Noct points out, ignoring the fact that Prompto had to quite literally take his hand and drag him here. His hair’s still a tangled mess, and his eyes are still a bit slow with sleep. But he’s watching Prompto _very_ intently.

 

Prompto’s got his hips tipped forward, his head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed. He’s got a very smug expression on his face, very much screaming ‘I know I’m hot, what are you gonna do about it?’ He tugs his shirt up a little higher, and Noct’s eyes greedily drink in the reveal.

 

“You weren’t out of bed when I wanted you to be,” Prompto says, his words taking on an exaggerated whine as he bites at his lower lip. He gives Noct his best accusatory glare, one that’s a jolt of heat that goes right to Noct’s cock. Fuck.

 

“I had to go _all alone,_ Noctis,” Prompto adds, tipping his head to the side, frowning and letting his hips roll forward again. The room feels a little too warm, and Noct shifts a little. His pants are getting tight. Prompto is absolutely playing up the teasing act, and it’s _totally_ working, damn him.

 

“Somehow, I think you were fine,” Noctis replies.

 

Prompto laughs a little, and tugs the shirt up just a little more, and Noct’s breath catches in his throat when he gets a good glimpse of Prompto’s chest. He’s all delicious, toned skin, little splashes of freckles here and there. Noct’s attention, though, is centered in on Prompto’s nipples. They’re erect, a little swollen still, with delicious metal studs poking through.

 

“It _hurt,”_ Prompto says, his voice taking on that whiny quality again.

 

Noctis _very_ much doubt it hurt. Prompto does this. He gets piercings, and eventually he gets bored with them, or they heal over because wounds tend to do that for incubi, even if they’re self-inflicted holes. He’s been whining and complaining about wanting to get them done again (‘I don’t feel right without them, Noct!’) and Noctis knew it was inevitable.

 

Okay, Noct’s not complaining, either, because Prompto really does look fucking fantastic with them.

 

He’d gotten the ears done again a while ago, so that’s nothing new, when Prompto tips his head and shows off the line of piercings there. The tongue isn’t new either – and Noctis has been on the receiving end of several _very_ nice blowjobs in the past few weeks as proof – but it’s still goddamn tantalizing when Prompto sticks his tongue out.

 

“Those piercings never hurt,” Noctis points out, when Prompto tugs his shirt fully off and tosses it aside. He’s still wearing his leather gloves, and he playfully runs his fingers up his sides, toying for a moment with his pierced nipples, making a show of sighing and tipping his head back. It’s not _all_ purely for show, of course, because Noct knows damn well how sensitive Prompto gets when he’s got freshly pierced nipples.

 

“Not the only piercing I got,” Prompto says, with wink, and _that_ piques Noct’s interest. He drags his eyes away from Prompto’s chest, down his belly, and he doesn’t _see_ anything new standing out at him.

 

Prompto laughs, as Noctis very obviously checks him out. Noctis can only roll his eyes and try to pretend that he isn’t intrigued. Prompto, of course, is _very_ aware of how interested he is. He arches his back, puts his chest on display, the delicious toned muscles of his belly rippling with the effect. He’s wearing pants that hang low on his hips, showing off the delicious v-curve that Noct loves dragging his tongue over. He’s still got on a pair of leather gloves, too, and he lazily tugs them off, one at a time, and tosses them at Noct’s head. One of the gloves hits Noctis square in the face, and Noctis can’t quite hold back the laughter, even as he tries to steady his expression and glare.

 

“You gonna show me the other piercing?” Noctis asks, as Prompto shifts closer, until he’s hovering over where Noctis is sitting. Noct settles back against the couch cushion, lounging as casually as he can. Prompto’s smiling, and he lazily settles down, swinging his legs over Noct’s thighs as he straddles him.

 

“Nope,” Prompto says, grinning. “Don’t think so.”  He leans back a little, so he’s perched in Noct’s lap, but there’s a tantalizing space between them, and Noctis absolutely knows better than to try touching. At least, not _yet._

 

“You’re a tease,” Noctis laughs. Prompto simply shifts again, arching his back and showing off his pierced nipples, and the motion gives Noctis an _idea._

 

It’s a damn good idea, too.

 

Noct reaches for the gloves. They’re Prompto’s, and they’re well worn, at this point, but they fit Noct’s hands well enough. They’re a similar size and build, after all. Prompto watches, eyes narrowed still, but he doesn’t say anything – though Noctis doesn’t miss the slight intake of breath – as Noct lazly slips one of the gloves on his hand. The leather is supple and soft and Noctis lazily flexes his fingers as he slides the other one over his hand, as well.

 

“Thanks for the gloves,” Noctis says. Prompto shifts awkwardly in his lap, and Noctis swears, he sees the faint outline of Prompto’s half-hard cock pressing up against the pants he’s still wearing. “So, gonna let me touch?”

 

Prompto looks properly torn, and it pleases Noctis. It makes the pride swell up in him, almost as much as the heat that’s swirling through his veins. Prompto gets off on teasing him. Fuck, Prompto gets off on _everything –_ another point that Noct’s well aware of – but he loves the chase. He’s impatient though, and Noctis knows the other daemon’s weakness. He’s been exploiting it for years. Noct’s quiet laziness _always_ wins out.

 

“Guess you can touch a _little,”_ Prompto hisses, “but leave the gloves on.”

 

Noctis laughs, and when the soft, leather-clad tips of his fingers reach out, tracing along the dip of Prompto’s pelvis, the other incubus shudders. Prompto’s head tips back, just a little, though he’s still watching Noct with lidded eyes. He shifts, pressing a little closer, and his hands move to drape lazily over Noct’s shoulders.

 

“Gloves stay on,” Noctis agrees, and that’s another jolt of heat, this time a little more urgent, rushing through him. The leather adds a nice little touch. He can still feel the heat of Prompto’s skin, through the gloves, but it’s muted. Prompto seems to appreciate the different texture, too, because he’s already shifting, groaning as Noctis drags his fingers, slow and purposeful, up his abdomen.

 

They don’t take their time like this nearly often enough. It’s been a _while_ since Noct’s really had fun with Prompto, and even then, it’s usually edging him, jerking his cock and then drawing back to watch his belly twitch and trembling and his thighs quake. Noct has no real desire to dip lower – at least not _yet –_ and he instead traces his soft fingers up the lines of Prompto’s abdomen. He splays his fingers, and Prompto _groans,_ back arching, pressing into the touch.

 

“You totally have a glove kink, don’t you?” Noctis teases, curling his fingers to squeeze lightly at Prompto’s sides. Prompto’s eyes narrow and he makes a quiet, annoyed sound, but it’s not very convincing, not with the way his hips are already starting to rock a little, rutting into the air, as if he’s holding back from getting some really friction.

 

“Do you just talk to hear your own voice, Noct?” Prompto replies, and Noctis takes that as a victory, too. “Cuz you’re getting off on it.”

 

Noctis laughs. His fingers drift higher, and now they’re tracing over the faint definition of ribs jutting out, with the way Prompto’s back is arching, his chest lifting. He’s got a couple of stray freckles, too, and Noctis pauses over each, letting the soft pads of the leather brush over the little speckled marks.

 

“One of us is getting off on this,” Noctis agrees, and he purposely lowers his eyes, honing in on the bulge in Prompto’s pants. If Prompto cares, he sure as hell isn’t showing it, because he smirks and digs his fingers into the back of Noct’s shoulders, and rocks his hips forward.

 

“You like it when I put on a show for you,” Prompto says, lazily.

 

Noctis doesn’t reply, at least not with words. He trails his fingers up higher, over Prompto’s chest, and lazily tugs at one erect nipple. It’s almost entirely healed already – Prompto always heals fast, benefit of being an incubus – and Noct knows damn well the sensitivity’s already kicked in.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto hisses, with the first little tug, his hips jerking forward. His nails dig into Noct’s shoulder blades, and Noctis laughs his response. He doesn’t pull away, not entirely, but he releases the abused flesh, instead working tiny little circles with his thumb around the areola. Prompto groans and rocks his hips, more urgent, and Noctis feels the way Prompto’s heart quickens under his fingertips. It’s hot as hell, seeing the reaction, _feeling_ it.

 

“Still denying you’re getting off on this?” Noctis asks. He flicks at Prompto’s nipple – smiling at the responding groan it elicits- and gives the piercing a soft little tug, not enough that it’ll hurt, but enough that he knows it’s gotta be sending jolts of pleasure all through Prompto.

 

“Fuck off, Noctis,” Prompto replies, shuddering, his head tossing back and his eyes sliding shut. “Fuck, those gloves are _evil.”_

 

“Sure are,” Noctis agrees, “and you’re the one who gave ‘em to me.”

 

Noctis settles back a little more, and _maybe_ his thigh nudges into Prompto’s as he makes himself comfortable. The space between them is tangible, and the air is starting to crackle with energy. Prompto’s _definitely_ turned on by this, and Noct’s taking it as a challenge. He’s fascinated by the piercings, honestly. He never really realizes how much he’s missed them until Prompto gives him new ones to play with. And it’s been a while since he’s had his nipples pierced.

 

Prompto bites his lower lip to stifle a groan when Noctis lifts his other hand up. He flicks his fingers over Prompto’s other, neglected nipple, pleased with how quickly it stiffens and perks up. Both hands shift, tugging and rolling the sensitive flesh, and it has Prompto gasping, totally unable to completely hold back his pleasure. Prompto’s nails dig harder into his back, and his chest arches. Noctis, in response, flicks his thumbs over the swollen flesh, catching the little studded end of the piercing and giving it a gentle tug.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto shudders, and he’s fully hard in his pants now. Noct’s clever eyes can see the full outline of his cock, and –

 

“Did you pierce your cock, too?” Noctis asks, tipping his head, because it looks… _off._ He can see the distinct outline through Prompto’s too-tight pants, and there’s distinct little bumps, something that isn’t there _normally._

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Prompto has the presence of mind to respond with another tease.

 

Noctis pinches his nipples, a little rougher now, rolling the flesh between his thumb and his forefinger, and Prompto _hisses._ It’s not entirely pleasure, either, but he’s not complaining. It’s got to be a strange mixture of sensations. Noct’s hands are warm under the smooth, soft texture of leather, and it’s just riding the line between pain and pleasure and oversensitivity.

 

“Wouldn’t mind seeing,” Noctis agrees. His fingers pause, and he traces his thumbs back in feathery-soft circles around Prompto’s erect nipples again, pleased as Prompto shudders. His chest is heaving, and he’s trembling a little, and Noct knows, by the way Prompto’s fingers are flexing against his back, he’s fighting the urge to reach down and touch himself.

 

“Not gonna get to see,” Prompto whines. Noctis, in response, tugs at the piercings again. He’s merciless, and Prompto outright gasps when he rubs his thumbs in quick little flicks over Prompto’s nipples. They’re stiff and peaked, swollen where the piercing’s just finishing its healing process, and blood-hot sensitive. Prompto tosses his head back, as Noctis switches his tactic. He shifts one hand to grip at Prompto’s hip, tugging him closer, and dips his head in. His other hand’s still teasing the stiff, erect little nub, but his lips close around one abused nipple, teeth tugging at it, the piercing clacking against his teeth and smooth and cool against his tongue.

 

“Fuck—” Prompto whines. His hands shift to Noct’s horns, gripping onto them like they’re handlebars, tugging his face closer. Noctis doesn’t relent. Prompto’s nipple is swollen against his tongue, and Noctis alternates swirling the tip of his tongue around the abused flesh, and applying hot, wet suction to it.

 

He doesn’t quite expect Prompto to suddenly cry out, for his whole body to tense up and his chest to heave, his back arching, as he suddenly, abruptly comes in his pants. It’s a nice surprise though, one that Noctis accepts eagerly. He doesn’t stop teasing and pinching Prompto’s abused chest though, and he’s still tugging at one of the piercings with clever fingers, his tongue curling around the sensitive nub of the other, working Prompto through it until he’s tugging at his horns, drawing his head away.

 

Noctis settles back, admiring his work. Prompto’s chest is heaving. There’s a thing sheen of sweat, and the nipple he’d been sucking on is puffy and glistening with saliva. The piercings stand out even more, with the abused flesh red and swollen, and _fuck,_ he’s still circling around the other nipple with his gloved fingers.

 

“… so, now can I see?” Noctis asks, when Prompto finally has the sense to bat his hand away. He’s still oversensitive, gasping and whining every time Noctis teases him with those delicate brushes of fingers.

 

“No,” Prompto says, “asshole. I ruined my pants.”

 

Prompto doesn’t seem that upset about it, though.

 

\---

 

Prompto lasts a whole day before he lets Noctis play with the _other_ piercing. He had noble intentions, Noct’s sure, of holding out, but Prompto’s impatience always wins.

 

It probably helps that Noctis has officially stolen Prompto’s gloves.

 

He spends the entire day teasing Prompto with gentle glides of his leather-clad fingers over Prompto’s sensitive skin. He loves the nipple piercings, yeah, but he’s also _really_ appreciative of how dragging his fingers down Prompto’s spine, letting him feel the soft press of the worn leather, makes him shudder. Noctis is absolutely merciless. He finds reasons to touch Prompto, to get his fingers up under his shirt, to squeeze rough at his hip.

 

Prompto makes it longer than Noctis thought he would, honestly.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto groans, when Noct runs his leather-clad fingers gently through the hair at the nape of his neck, “ _stop.”_

 

“I’m not doing _anything,”_ Noctis replies, nudging their hips together, and that simple little gesture is apparently the thing that breaks Prompto. He grabs Noct’s hand, roughly, squeezing at the leather, drags him into the bedroom.

 

So Noctis finds himself propped up on his elbows, lounging back against the headboard, as Prompto tugs his shirt off. His nipples are fully healed by now, a day later, but they’re still already erect, waiting. Noct’s not interested in _that_ again, though, because Prompto’s also wiggling out of his low-hanging pants, tugging his shorts down, and _yeah,_ Noctis is pleased.

 

“Happy?” Prompto grumbles, reaching down over his belly, curling his fingers around his half-hard cock and giving it a good, long stroke. His fingers linger at the head, teasing it, tugging at his erection to let Noctis get a nice view. There’s a long line of barbells down the underside of his shaft, and it makes Noct’s mouth water.

 

“… how practical is that?” Noctis asks, tipping his head to the side. “That can’t feel good.”

 

“Wanna see?” Prompto replies, with a lazy smirk, and another slow stroke to his cock, his fingers tracing the ridged lines where the barbell pieces through his frenum, leaving little raised lines.

 

“Don’t I always?” Noctis grins at the challenge.

 

Prompto doesn’t waste any time in crawling onto the bed. He’s fully naked, and somehow, it’s just made hotter by the fact that Noct’s still fully dressed in his t-shirt and pants. He’s got the gloves on, still, and Noctis makes a show of dragging them up over Prompto’s thighs as Prompto crawls over him.

 

“You better be careful, Noct,” Prompto sighs out, as he shifts, straddling Noct’s neck, his thighs on either side of his face. Prompto lifts a hand, balancing it on the headboard, scooting up a little, and Noct drags both gloved hands around, gripping rough at Prompto’s ass, tugging him up and in.

 

Prompto’s cock nudges into the side of Noct’s cheek as he positions himself, straddling his face, and it makes Noct’s mouth water. Noctis has to admit, the piercing looks good. Prompto’s almost fully hard as Noctis kneads his fingers into his ass, barbell-adorned cock twitching when Noctis turns his head to press wet kisses over the shaft.

 

“Promise I’ll be gentle,” Noctis teases, blowing a breath of hot air over the tip of Prompto’s cock, and he’s pleased with how Prompto hisses, precome beading up at the thick, swollen head as he jerks in response.

 

“I said _careful,_ not gentle,” Prompto responds.

 

Noctis doesn’t say anything, he simply laughs quietly against Prompto’s sensitive, aching erection, and then he lifts up a little, dragging his tongue rough over the underside.

 

The piercings are nice. They’re different, _new,_ and Noctis doesn’t know how he feels about it, but it’s a nice change. Prompto’s shuddering and hissing, hips shifting as he rocks down a little. Noct can feel the raised flesh where the barbell pierces through the underside of his cock, and the metal studs are cool to the touch, but warming quickly as his tongue laps over them. Prompto’s rocking down, dragging his cock in a line across Noct’s face, and Noctis traces over the length of his shaft, base to tip. When Prompto’s hips draw back, he presses his tongue into the weeping slit of his cock, the musky salt of precome flooding his senses, and Prompto _whines,_ the sound low and keening and needy.

 

“Sensitive?” Noctis asks, laughing, when Prompto rocks back down again, and he trails his tongue over each piercing, lapping at every bit of hard, aching flesh his tongue can reach, dipping down to nuzzle into Prompto’s balls when he’s fully flush against Noct’s face. His hands are gripping at Prompto’s ass, digging in roughly, even though his fingertips are soft from the leather gloves.

 

“Y-yeah,” Prompto admits, with a quiet laugh, “wasn’t quite expecting it.”

 

Noctis laughs. He shifts his grip, squeezing and spreading Prompto’s ass. Prompto makes a pleased sound and presses back into Noct’s hands, then forward again into his waiting tongue, the wet drag of heat over his sensitive cock _way_ too good. Noctis is enjoying himself, and he knows it’s driving Prompto insane. He can feel it, the shift in the air tangible, the energy buzzing around them. The other daemon’s body is a dead giveaway too, all drawn tight and needy, his cock leaking another strand of precome over Noct’s cheek when he ruts in again.

 

Prompto gasps out when Noct’s tongue catches one of the piercings, curling around it and giving an experimental little tug. “Fuck, Noct, _fuck,”_ he manages, gasping and lifting up a little, and Noctis gets the distinct feeling that he’s way too close to the edge already, with how hard and desperate he is. Prompto does his best to glare down, but his eyes are wide and needy and swirling with emotion.

 

Noctis laughs, and pulls a hand away from Prompto’s ass, lifting it to his lips lazily and pressing two gloved fingers into his mouth. The leather tastes and a bit bitter against his tongue, mingling with the taste of Prompto. It’s a little intoxicating, and when Noct realizing Prompto’s gone still, watching intently, he makes a show of swirling his tongue around his digits, spreading saliva across the soft, supple leather, wetting his fingers up nicely.

 

“Do you _want_ me to come all over your face, Noct? Cuz that’s what’s gonna happen,” Prompto groans, when Noctis draws back, his teeth teasing the very tip of one glove finger, tugging at it a little. Noctis laughs, and the sound rises up between them, soft and absolutely exuding confidence.

 

“Yeah, actually,” Noctis agrees, and then Prompto’s shifting in again, pressing the hard, heavy length of his cock right into Noct’s face, grinding down against him. Noct’s head tips back, and he catches the head of Prompto’s erection between his lips, taking him in, tongue swirling heavy around the ridge.

 

Prompto gasps, and he doesn’t bother to keep quiet anymore as he starts to move. Noct’s hands are gripping at his ass again, squeezing his cheeks apart, and the two saliva-slicked fingers tease over him, working their way slow and steady past the tight rim of his entrance. Noctis vaguely wishes he’d bothered with actual lube – the leather catches a little – but they’re _incubi_ anyway, they don’t really need it, and the slick of the saliva clinging to his fingers is more than enough. It must feel good, anyway, because Prompto’s breath hitches and his hips stutter their movement for a moment.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto whines, and there’s desperation in his voice, as he bucks back into the fingers splitting him open, “feels _different,_ fuck, it’s _thick.”_ The gloves, of course, add a little extra layer of thickness, making Noct’s fingers feel just _slightly_ different. The rub of leather is good, too, creating a bit of extra friction, something that has Prompto writhing, his hips jerking as Noct crooks two fingers up into his prostate.

 

Noctis could get him off just like _this,_ of course, but he’s intrigued by the piercings. His lips curl around the head of Prompto’s cock, teasing a sensitive spot right under the head, and he goes down on him, slow and steady. It’s not the best angle, and Prompto’s rocking steadily back into his gloved fingers, but Noct’s neck cranes and he takes him in, sighing at the feeling of the metal barbells lining the underside of his cock nudging into his tongue. Noctis drags over them, tracing the heavy lines, teasing and pushing at one of the barbells with the very tip of his tongue. The responding jerk of hips makes Noct laugh, the vibrations coursing through both of them, and the musky taste of precome over his tongue only encourages him.

 

Prompto doesn’t take long, and Noct’s not in the mood to tease. He’s dragging his tongue heavily under the bottom of his cock, tracing the piercings, tugging light with curls of his tongue. His fingers crook up into Prompto’s ass, the leather smooth and soft and dragging over his insides. Prompto’s not bothering to keep it together, not anymore, his head tossed back, one hand curled around one of Noct’s horns, guiding him, the other pressed into the headboard, balancing himself as he rocks on his face.

 

Prompto comes down Noct’s throat with a cry, and Noct’s ready for it. He swallows him down, messy and wet, saliva pooled at the corner of his mouth as he glides his tongue over Prompto’s cock, working him through his orgasm. Prompto’s clenched tight around his fingers, and he gasps and rocks his ass back, then slams his hip forward, his cock bumping into the back of Noct’s throat, until finally, his motions still. Prompto shudders and gasps and Noct’s name is on his lips as he slumps back, finally, spent.

 

“Noct,” Prompto whimpers, shifting his weight so he’s half-balanced on Noct’s chest, his cock wet and messy as it falls from his mouth to rest wetly over his cheek. “Fuck.”

 

“Glad you let me touch?” Noctis asks, with a laugh. He tips his head, nuzzling his cheek into Prompto’s softening cock, and he laughs when his hair tickles the underside. It makes Prompto squirm, oversensitive, the piercings wet and tingling, a strange, hard press into Noct’s cheek.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, shivering, as he rides out the final little bursts of pleasure. His hips keep twitching, and his cock’s drooling, as Noctis tips his head more, pressing wet kisses along the side of his shaft, all the way down to nuzzle into his balls. “Fuck—Noct, you’re gonna get me going _again…!”_

“Again isn’t a bad thing,” Noctis points out. Prompto laughs, and shifts a little, and sighs as his cock nudges into the side of Prompto’s head as he starts to swing his leg over.

 

There’s a _tug_ though, at the side of Noct’s head, as Prompto starts to pull away, and Noctis realizes, with a sudden burst of horror, that Prompto’s _stuck_ on the edge of his horn. Prompto realizes too, because he suddenly sits back down, pressing into Noct’s face.

 

“Dude, fuck, don’t move, Noct, your horn hooked my dick!”

 

Noctis almost _laughs_ but he has a feeling that’s probably a bad idea. They’ve gotten their horns tangled countless times, and it’s always a tangled mess, trying to get themselves free from each other. Prompto’s sensitive, too, always whining and complaining. Noct has a feeling he _won’t_ appreciate this very much.

 

“It’s okay, I can get it—” Noctis starts to say.

 

“Noct, _stay stil—”_ Prompto says at the same time.

 

Noctis really _should_ have listened to Prompto. His grip Prompto’s hips is firm though, and he lifts him up as he tries to tug his horns away, it’s probably just caught on the tip of the barbell, and it’s not like there’s any interlocking pieces to get tangled up.

 

Prompto _screams_ and Noct releases his hips.

 

“Fuck, Noctis, I’m _bleeding,_ holy shit _why did you do that?!”_

 

Prompto’s voice is panicked and _pained_ and Noctis realizes that there’s blood _everywhere,_ in places where there absolutely shouldn’t be any blood, and one of the barbell piercings has been ripped right out of his cock, right underneath the head. His frenum is torn and bleeding, and Noctis realizes, very quickly, that he has _fucked up._

 

“My dick is bleeding, _Noct,_ oh my god, what if it falls off?!” Prompto’s wailing, tears welling up in his eyes, panic sinking in. Outside, the stormclouds are rolling in, and Noctis is quick to spring to action, carefully easing Prompto aside and leaping out of bed to get a towel.

 

“You’re an _incubus,_ Prompto, it’ll heal overnight, I’m sorry—” Noctis says, in a quick rush, and Prompto’s whining and crying, staring in horror at the trickle of blood running down his soft length.

 

“You don’t _know_ that!” Prompto groans, collapsing back against the bed, even as Noctis crawls back in next to him, getting a warm cloth pressed up against his bloody, sensitive skin, cleaning around the area that’s been ripped. Prompto hisses at the contact and tips his head to bury his face into the pillow. “Noctis, this is the _worst,_ oh my god, _why didn’t anyone warn me?!”_

 

“Warn you what, that getting a jacob’s ladder on your dick is a bad idea?” Noctis shouldn’t say anything at all, but he’s staring incredulously, because _honestly,_ he could’ve predicted this would happen. Their sex is always rough and frantic, they’re _sex daemons,_ and it’s only a matter of time. If it hadn’t been tangled, it probably would’ve been ripped out when they were having rough sex, or it would’ve gotten _caught_ inside of him – a much worse thought, one that has Noctis shuddering – but of course, Prompto only whimpers and manages the most pathetic _glare_ of his entire life.

 

“You’re an asshole, Noctis! This _hurts!_ Piercings aren’t supposed to hurt! This is the _worst—”_ and Prompto wails again, as Noctis carefully shifts the cloth over him, dragging the wet fabric over the torn piercing. Outside, the rain is starting, and Noctis has a feeling they’re in for one fucking hell of a storm. For once, he doesn’t blame Prompto, either.

 

“C’mere, I’ll take care of you,” Noctis sighs. Prompto glares, and for a moment Noct thinks he’s going to push him away – and okay, maybe he’d deserve it – but instead he whimpers and sniffles and presses his face into Noct’s shoulder, arms curling around his neck. Noctis simply sighs, and kisses away salty tears, and lets Prompto snuggle into his shoulder, whimpering and whining and crying.

 

It definitely takes longer than a day for the torn piercing to heal, and Prompto vows to _never_ pierce his dick, ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i laughed bc i got a comment earlier today about "what happened the last time prompto got pierced" and this fic had already been completed. y'all are psychic!
> 
> twitter @thatdest; tumblr @destatree.  
> numi is @numinoceur. follow her on twitter for the spicy art. <3


	20. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna and Nyx have a little discussion about our favourite incubi~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini fill for Day 19!  
> Massages and a tiny bit of facesitting.  
> Have a little bit of Lunyx! <3  
> We had something longer planned for today, but finishing it up was not in the cards! the fic is done, but the art is not, so we're sitting on it a little longer. Numi was doodling some [Luna concept art](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/921152176986079232) earlier, so I decided to throw these idiots in properly just so that we have SOMETHING to offer up for today!  
> I'll do an extra bonus chapter later in the week to make up for today! I love succubus Luna though! 8)

“Something’s on your mind,” Luna teases, in a sing-song voice.

 

She always sounds so lighthearted. Nyx both loves and hates it. He _loves_ Luna, something fierce. They’d been drawn to each other, since the beginning. Maybe he simply needs someone to protect. Luna doesn’t need to be protected, of course, but she lets him think, at times, that she does. Maybe she’s the deluded one.

 

Probably, it’s somewhere in the middle.

 

Right now, Luna’s lying on her stomach. She’s wincing, running a hand through her messy blonde hair. It was tied back, as it usually is, but she’s got a stress headache, and it’s falling in loose curls over her face. Nyx had been the one to reach forward and tug the tie out of her hair. It’s twisted around his wrist now, like the perfect picture of domestic bliss. Fuck, as much as he makes fun of the idiot incubi they always end up babysitting, they aren’t much better.

 

“You’re on my mind,” Nyx replies. He’s straddling Luna’s ass. She’s naked, her breasts pressed into the mattress, her legs idly swinging as she kicks into the mattress. Her head’s tipped to the side, and her eyes are bright, and she’ll absolutely see through that response, Nyx knows.

 

“Not what I meant,” Luna replies, laughing, “I’m _always_ on your mind. You don’t look like that, love.”

 

Nyx sighs. His strong hands are working over Luna’s back. The wild one, Prompto, had another hissy fit earlier. It fucks with the weather, it fucks with _everyone,_ and it sets Luna wild. She eats away at bad emotions, but strong, sudden turns in moods mess with her. It screws with her balance of things, with her perception of the world… she works well with the blonde kid, Nyx has to admit, so he’s here willingly, but it takes its toll.

 

Okay. Maybe he likes the kid, too.

 

Prompto’s a good kid. And _maybe_ that’s what’s on his mind, too.

 

“Something’s… different about Prompto,” Nyx says, finally. It’s not so much that he’s hesitant to talk to Luna about anything. They’ve been living in the world of ‘the odd ones out’ for a while now. They’re not supposed to pair up the way they did. Fuck, it’s _almost_ a relief to know that there’s another pair out there as dumb as they are. And the fact that Prompto and Luna are both _different?_ Maybe it’s not entirely a coincidence.

 

“He’s special,” Luna agrees. She sighs and she arches her back up a little, and Nyx goes back to rubbing her back. Luna gets sore and exhausted when she’s dealing with too much negativity, and Prompto is… well, if there’s such thing as a fluffy-haired, freckled, blonde stormcloud, that’s him. Her back is stiff and there’s thick knots corded in her shoulder blades. Nyx works one free, and Luna winces and fists at the sheets, her wings fluttering at her sides where they’re coiled. He half expects her to yell at him to be ‘gentle’ but apparently even Luna knows what toll all this has taken on her.

 

“Special is one way of putting it,” Nyx replies, with a snort and a roll of his eyes. He works the knot free with steady presses of his fingers over the bump in her shoulder, and moves on to the other one, ignoring the sharp intake of breath as he tortures Luna all over again on the opposite side. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘loose cannon.’ Aren’t you worried about Noctis?”

 

Luna shrugs, and she tries to smile, but her lips curl up and she curses under her breath instead, her wings unfurling and quivering violently. “Fuck, Nyx, that _hurts.”_

 

“Deal,” Nyx sighs, though he eases up the pressure some, his fingers switching to work loose circles over her back.

 

It works, because Luna sighs, and relaxes again. Her perfectly manicured fingernails ease up a little too, letting go of the fistful of sheets she’s been bunching up. “… I’m not too worried about Noctis,” Luna admits, after a moment’s silence. Nyx’s tail flutters against her thigh, giving away the feelings he’s not voicing. “Noct’s strong. I knew him _before_ he knew Prompto, and he was… very different. They’re both different, in a strange way. I think they belong together.”

 

“You’re such a goddamn romantic, Luna,” Nyx teases. His fingers ease further down her back though, now that he’s finally worked out that second horrible knot. He traces the knobs of her spine down the curve of her back, and Luna sighs and lifts into the touch as his fingers settle at the small of her back. Nyx scoots back a little, sliding back over her ass to straddle the top of Luna’s thighs. This way, he can lean in and get good leverage to start working at the base of the wings that flutter at her lower back.

 

“Ah – you are too, Nyx, under that silly daemon hunter bad-boy appearance you try too hard on,” Luna gasps out. Her wings are sensitive, fluttering in the air as Nyx massages the thick base of them. They’re soft, almost like a fine, supple leather, and Nyx hates how fascinated he is by them. He knows they tend to bother Luna, though, especially after a long day like this one.

 

“Prove it,” Nyx challenges, and he switches tactics, running his fingers feather-light along the curve of Luna’s wings, up to the pointed tip, and then back down again, soft and gentle. He hears the way that Luna’s breath catches in her throat, the quiet moan that escapes, and she tips her head to the side, messy blonde hair spilling over her cheeks.

 

“Mmm… you keep trying to help Prompto. Why would you help him, if you didn’t care?” Luna points out, with a quiet laugh, even as she’s trying to arch up into the touch. Nyx has his weight firmly planted on her thighs, and he’s leaning over her ass, pinning her down. Whether or not Luna has the strength to flip him is questionable. Nyx is physically stronger. Luna’s powers are just… _different._ Terrifying, yes, but it’s questionable in what way.

 

Nyx shrugs. “I’ve almost died a few times. Sucks. Don’t wanna see his little boyfriend bite the dust.”

 

His fingers trace over her wings, and dip back down to massage at the base, where they’re connected to Luna’s back. She gasps out – there’s knots there too, somehow – and writhes under the touch, all sensitive and needy.

 

“You’re – ah, Nyx – jealous of Noctis, I thought. Why would you want to help him?”

 

Nyx fights back the swirl of emotion rising in him. He’s _not_ jealous. Okay, so at first, he didn’t understand Luna’s friendship with such a lazy, bratty incubus. He’s… figured it out, though. There’s more to Noctis than meets the eye. And okay, so he has a soft spot for lost, confused souls, and that sums Prompto up quite nicely. Well, the soul bit is questionable, but…

 

“Okay. So, I like the kid,” Nyx admits. Luna laughs, quietly, and Nyx feels her skin heat up a few notches as he works his fingers into the base of her wings, easing away the last bits of pain. Her wings are uncoiled and trembling violently, the delicate sinew shimmering in the dim light. He can absolutely _smell_ the heat pooling between Luna’s thighs, the need that’s slowly building between them. As Nyx shifts forward, rocking his hips into the swell of Luna’s ass, he’s sure she can feel how hard he is. Fuck, Luna’s gorgeous, and he _loves_ her.

 

“So, you like him,” Luna echoes. “What’s the problem, then, love?”

 

Nyx sighs. What’s the problem? The idiot can control the weather. With the flip of a switch, his emotions do a total one-eighty and create absolute chaos for the entire city. It’s taking all of his succubus girlfriend’s energy and sanity to keep Prompto from imploding and destroying _everything._ He’s just had to play marriage counsellor between two immortal beings, and it won’t be the last time.

 

Prompto _looks_ different, too, and maybe that’s the weirdest part.

 

Fuck, this is _all_ weird.

 

“Guess there’s no problem,” Nyx admits, with a sigh. He’s totally going daemon hunting tomorrow, and the blood running through his fingers and splashing over his skin will absolutely make him feel better. It will be cathartic.

 

“Good,” Luna smiles, “I don’t want to stray too far. Noctis got him a malboro, did you know that? Funny, they’re _really_ rare, I wonder where he found it…”

 

Nyx, honestly, wonders the same thing. It’s a weird pet choice. He’d dwell on it more, but Luna’s shifting underneath him, wiggling impatiently. Nyx doesn’t want to try his luck with overpowering her – he _does_ have something of an ego, and he’d prefer for it to stay intact – so he lifts up, giving Luna room to slide out from under him.

 

“You feel better?” he asks Luna, and when she sits up, spinning around to face him, Nyx is pleased by the sparkle in her eyes, the way they shine and twinkle mischievously. Her hair’s framing her face in beautiful golden locks, cascading around the purple curve of her horns, and she’s totally naked, except for the moon pendant hanging between her perfect, full breasts. Her nipples are already hard, and Nyx feels his cock swelling in his pants as he drags his eyes appreciatively down Luna’s beautiful, perfectly curved body.

 

“I _will_ feel better,” Luna says, and she reaches out, curling her fingers into Nyx’s hair and tugging his face forward. Nyx lets Luna kiss him, rough and hard, and he lets her push him backwards down onto the mattress as well. He _loves_ Luna, and he knows exactly what she needs, as Luna crawls onto him, shifting to straddle his face, her strong thighs pressed to either side of his head.

 

“Mmm, you will,” Nyx agrees, tipping his head to press a kiss into Luna’s inner thigh, and then he’s gripping her by the hips, tugging her wet heat down over his lips, smearing it messy across his face as he flicks his tongue over her clit and delves inside to taste her. Luna gasps, and fists her hands in Nyx’s hair, and they both forget about idiot incubi and strange occurrences, and everything in between.

 

On the other side of the city, Noctis is very proudly presenting his boyfriend with a tiny little tentacled pet-monster, but that’s unimportant, because Nyx and Luna have each other. And they, too, are very much in love, and very _different._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree ; numi is @numinoceur. Thanks! <3


	21. Wound Licking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto almost dies again. This is starting to become a trend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back on schedule for Day 20!  
> thanks for stickin' with us yesterday. <3  
> This is a continuation from Day 17, in case you need a refresher. it was supposed to be posted yesterday, but we needed a bit of extra time~  
> there's some blood play in today's fic. 8) other than that... angst kink???

Noct’s doing his best to panic. He really, absolutely is. Panic is Prompto’s role in this damn relationship, after all. It’s hard to do much of _anything_ though.

 

Right now, the snow is hurtling down. Why the fuck is it always a goddamn _snowstorm?!_ Noct’s pretty damn sure he’d prefer the rain. Squishy had tried to follow him outside, but the malboro doesn’t do well in the snow, and he’d had to untangle clingy tentacles from his neck and ensure Squish wasn’t sneaking out behind him. Noctis _wishes_ he had Squishy’s companionship, too, because right now, he can’t think straight, can’t see, can barely fucking _breathe_ through the thick layer of snow.

 

He’d hastily called Nyx, who had agreed to meet him. Nyx, too, isn’t made for this kind of weather. Fuck, Noct certainly isn’t either, but he’s pressing forward out of sheer determination.

 

The snow is still coming down, at least. Noct’s head is pounding, and every inch of his body hurts and _aches,_ and that’s gotta be Prompto. He can tell that he’s nearby, he can roughly triangulate where he is, but… the snow is a thick wall, swirling around them. The wind is whipping in Noct’s hair, icicles forming on his horns. His tail’s curled around his thigh for warmth, and he’s shivering through his coat. None of this is _like_ Prompto. Yeah, Prompto’s run off before, but it’s always been in the heat of the moment, in the midst of an argument, and they’d been _fine._ They’ve been _fine._ Squishy’s made things better, and apart from the couple of fuck ups where one of them almost died—

 

“Noct,” Nyx has to almost yell to be heard over the wind howling and whipping through them, “Noctis! This is hopeless, we aren’t gonna find him! We should get Luna to help!”

 

Noct’s eyes narrow, and he has to choke back the rise of emotion swelling up in him. Nyx has a point, of course. They’ve been circling for an hour now, and the snow is steadily growing deeper. If there were any tracks to follow, at any point, they’re buried now under a foot of snow. All that exists is _pain,_ the desperate throb of ache in the base of Noct’s skull, the way his limbs don’t want to work quite right, and the feeling that the other incubus is _nearby._

 

“I’m not leaving him!” Noctis yells back, shuddering against the wind. There’s a sudden gust of it, as if somewhere, Prompto hears the exchange, and it’s almost enough to push him over. Noctis stumbles against it, and shudders down into his coat further, snuggling into the warmth, but there’s no such thing as warmth, not when Prompto is _gone._

 

Nyx shrugs, “we’ll keep looking—I gotta find somewhere to warm up first, though. I’m gonna call Luna, too! See what she’s up to, she can do more than we can!”

 

They part, Nyx making his way across the street to break into a store that’s been all closed up due to the sudden change in weather. The other daemon has a point, of course. Noct knows they’d have far more success if he’d simply stop looking and come up with a plan.

 

Prompto is his entire fucking life though, and Noct’s facing this _again,_ this horrible realizing bubbling up in him that he might lose the center of his universe. He’s not thinking rationally—fuck, he’s not thinking at all. He’s just desperate, and aching, and hurt, and he wants _Prompto._

 

Noct stumbles in circles for a while. Nyx texts him, but his phone’s battery is leeching fast in the sudden bursts of cold, and _fuck,_ Noct’s terrified. Whether it’s been five minutes or an hour, he can’t really say. Everything hurts. The cold is starting to work into him, and even though he’s a daemon and it can’t directly kill him, it saps at Noct’s energy. It makes him feel slow and sluggish and he trips over his feet a couple of times, nearly going face-first into the fucking snow.

 

The pain is his head is still throbbing. It’s spread all through, and it aches the most at the base of his horns, making Noct wince, making it even _harder_ to see through the swirling gusts of snow billowing around him. Everything is white and blurry, and Nyx is right, he should go home—

 

It’s the daemon blood that alerts Noctis that something is _wrong._

 

The hot whiff of acrid sulfur carries on the wind, and sticks out from the smell of ice and snow and _cold._ It hits Noct smack in the face, and he spins around, and it’s not Prompto, he knows that instantly, but _daemon blood_ is out of place here. With Prompto missing, and all this pain, Noctis knows, very fast, that something is horribly fucking off.

 

He whips out his phone, texts Nyx – ‘he’s hurt’ and takes off running. Even in the thick layer of snow, Noctis keeps his balance, leaping and drawing on his own magical powers, phasing through the air to leap across snowdrifts and embankments that have built up, chasing the bitter, burning scent that’s running in the wind.

 

The actual scent of blood is another rush of panic, because Noctis sees it hot and dark in the snow before he figures out what the fuck is happening. His head feels like it’s going to explode; there’s too much emotion to be contained, and it’s just like finding Prompto almost dead in the snow all over again, fuck, Noct can’t _handle_ this—

 

Before he has a total meltdown, Noctis realizes that the blood isn’t Prompto’s. It’s dark, black and oily and viscous. It’s all over the walls of a nearby building, trailing through the falling snow and ending with a dark lump, one that’s definitely _not_ an incubus. The thing is dead, withered and twisting away into nothingness, but Noct knows what it is.

 

He doesn’t know if he should be relieved or fucking _terrified_ as he kicks the bloody, ruined body of the daemon with the toe of his boot. It’s already covered in a layer of snow, but as he nudges it over with his toe, he’s greeted by horns and fangs and a twisted, long face that’s already melting away into charred bones and black goo. It’s a fucking hellhound. Nyx hunts the damn things sometimes, when they prey on humans, but they don’t usually come into the city, fuck—

 

Noctis hears movement behind him. It’s dull, little more than the crunch of snow and a quiet half-groan, half-whine, and fuck, it’s _Prompto._

He gives the dead daemon a good, harsh kick, and spins around, and takes off down the street. There’s two more daemons, another dead, and already mostly withered away. The third one is still alive, but dying, and Noctis only takes a moment to conjure an ethereal blade to shove through the fucking thing’s lungs, pleased with the dying, choking sounds, before he’s off again.

 

Prompto’s collapsed against a wall, and there’s a trail of blood, redder, less oily and burning, more… _human,_ following him. His head’s tipped back, and he’s shivering, the tears already frozen on his cheeks as he takes in shuddering, rattling breaths.

 

“Prom—” Noct doesn’t even fully realize he’s saying it, as he falls to his knees in front of his boyfriend. Prompto’s horns are dull, greying at the tips, but they’re not black, and that’s a rush of relief, a sensation that has Noctis sobbing, the tears bitter and salty hot against the cold, winter air. At the sound of his voice, Prompto’s eyes open, bleary and unfocused and confused, but the wind dies down, _just_ a little.

 

“… Noct…?” Prompto manages, but the word’s chased with a wracking cough.

 

Noct curls his arms around Prompto. There’s a responding explosion of pain, the moment he moves him, and the panic sets in _again,_ because Prompto’s _hurt._ He’s alive, but he’s hurt, and there’s dead daemons around him, and Prompto’s covered in blood. His hair’s matted red with it, and it’s streaking his face. The freckles are hidden under a layer of blood and daemonic gore, and his clothes are torn, and Prompto’s whole body is shaking violently, wracking with sobs and chills.

 

And fuck, Noctis doesn’t even know _why_ he notices, but Prompto’s still clutching a bag of snacks that he’d picked up from the store earlier. He’s still got Noct’s goddamn _gummy candies,_ through all of this.

 

“I’m here, Prom,” Noctis promises.

 

“… knew you would be,” Prompto agrees, and he manages the weakest of smiles, and then his body goes limp, and he passes out.

 

Noctis does his best to gather Prompto up in his arms. It’s not easy. He’s pushing away the rising panic, the thoughts that keep spiraling into his mind about Prompto being _dead,_ about him never waking up. He’s not dead, though. He’s injured, and daemons _can_ kill each other, but Prompto had won whatever battle he’s gotten himself into. He’s weakened, and he needs to eat, but there’s none of the black corruption working through him. Noct’s legs buckle – and it’s not because he’s too weak to carry Prompto – and the wind has died down a little, but it’s still rough and howling, and the snow’s still coming down.

 

Prompto’s still limp though, as Noctis cradles him against his chest and takes those shaky steps forward.

 

It’s a long way home.

 

Nyx finds them half a block down, though, and getting out of the cold warmed him up some, because he’s moving swiftly, with purpose, long legs cutting through the snow with ease. His tail’s swishing and his eyes are intent, as they lock with Noct’s.

 

“He’s alive,” Nyx says, as he rushes over, and it’s pointing out the obvious, but right now, Noctis needs to hear it. He needs the damn _confirmation._ Noct nods, and he stumbles, and Nyx’s strong arms catch him. Noct’s not willing to let go of Prompto – he needs to be _close,_ needs Prompto to feel his warmth, damnit – but Nyx is dragging him along, an arm hooked around his waist, steadying him, and they make the stumbling journey back home.

 

Noctis has been skeptical of Nyx in the past. He’s had moments where he doesn’t really understand what the hell Luna sees in the other incubus. Nyx is… well, he’s a badass, and he’s blunt, and to the point, and sometimes it’s abrasive. He’s loyal as hell, though. Noctis learned that. He’s also reliable, if he has a reason to be. He’s taller than Noctis, and physically stronger, and he’s much more skilled in this sort of thing than Noctis is. He’s fought other types of daemons before. So has Noctis, for that matter-it inevitably happens, when you’re an incubus, living on damn near forever- but it’s been a long time. And right now, all rational thought is fleeting, anyway, because Prompto’s bleeding in his arms, slumped lifeless against him.

 

So, it’s Nyx who leads the way. It’s Nyx who helps Noctis up the stairs, an arm curled around his waist, half dragging him along. It’s Nyx who gets the door opened and guides them inside. A bath and bed is probably a good idea, but Noct’s not entirely thinking, and so he simply stumbles over to the couch, collapsing on it, Prompto stirring a little, curled up in his lap, with the sudden rush of warmth. Squishy’s quick to scuttle up the side of the couch, a tentacle curling around one of Prompto’s pale, cold wrists.

 

Nyx fetches some blankets a warm cloth, some painkillers and a few towels. Noctis ignores all that, though, his forehead pressed into Prompto’s. He hisses and his tail swishes when Nyx reaches to try and get Prompto undressed, and Nyx rolls his eyes and takes a step back, hands up.

 

“I’m gonna do it if you’re _not._ He’s your partner, you take care of him.”

 

Noct’s fingers are shaking, though, and Prompto’s clothes are frozen, stiff and clinging to him with dried, frozen blood. Noct struggles to get his sweater off, and the pants are hopeless, and eventually, he sighs and lets Nyx take over. The other daemon gets Prompto’s clothes off, and settles him down warm onto the couch, nestled up against Noct, sitting down to warm him from the other side. It’s… a little weird, Noct has to admit. Incubi tend to keep to themselves. He and Prompto – and Luna and Nyx, at that – are an anomaly. But here they are, the three of them on the couch, snuggling up under some blankets.

 

It feels okay though. And Prompto’s shivering and mumbling, slowly coming back into himself, so that’s good.

 

The wounds look much worse than they actually are, too. Noctis reaches for the warm, wet cloth, swiping it across Prompto’s skin. He’s got deep slashes on his chest, but the bleeding’s already stopped. The wounds will take longer to heal – they’re daemon-inflicted wounds, not mortal ones – but the blood is clotted and the deep gashes are pink and starting to stitch together at the edges. There’s another cut across Prompto’s belly, longer, but shallow, and a set of rough claw marks ripping apart both thighs.

 

“Hurts, Noct…” Prompto mumbles, when Noctis dabs away at the mess. Prompto’s fingers are arms are coated in dark blood that isn’t his own, and Noctis wipes that away, first, eyes narrowed at the mess of black gore he’s cleaning up.

 

“ ‘course it hurts. You just fought off a group of hounds,” Nyx points out, cheerfully enough. “Lived to tell the tale, too. That’s an accomplishment. Should be proud, Prom.”

 

Noctis glares, and there’s a knot of anger twisting in his stomach. But… well. Nyx is right. It’s a good accomplishment. And, at the end of the day, Prompto _is_ alive. He’s weakened and in pain, but his horns still have enough of their colour, and the wounds will heal.

 

“… got jumped,” Prompto says weakly, with a pathetic little laugh. “Got your candy though, Noct…”

 

“Shut up about that,” Noctis grumbles, leaning forward and pressing his lips into Prompto’s. Prompto tastes like blood and salt, but Noctis doesn’t care, deepening the kiss, and he’s pleased when, despite his injuries, Prompto responds with a quiet sigh, a hand lifting weakly to tangle into the front of Noct’s wet shirt.

 

Prompto seems a little more responsive, when the kiss parts. His eyes are opened, at least, not entirely focused, but swirled with blue and pink, and he’s getting there. He manages a little, dumb smile, and Noctis can’t help but smile in return, leaning in to press his lips over Prompto’s freckled, blood-spattered cheeks.

 

“Worried about me, huh?” Prompto tries to tease, but his voice is weak and he coughs wetly, partway through, groaning at the pain – pain that Noct feels, right back, burning through his ribs.

 

“Of course I worried about you,” Noctis replies, but he doesn’t have it in him to be upset, because Prompto’s okay. He’s _okay,_ and Noctis tells himself that again and again. He leans in again, tongue wet and rough as he carefully laps away some of the blood that’s smeared across Prompto’s cheek – redder blood, _Prompto’s_ blood, not the assholes who’d jumped him – and the taste of it, too, is comforting as hell. It shouldn’t be comforting, but… well. Incubi. They’re fucked up.

 

“Feels good,” Prompto says quietly, tipping his head back. Nyx is pressed into his back, and Prompto leans into his solid weight, finding comfort there, as Noctis drags his tongue down over Prompto’s jaw, across his clavicle, chasing the copper taste of blood.

 

It’ll help, Noctis knows, to lick the blood away; incubus saliva will help the wounds to close, will take away some of the other corruption. That’s not really why he’s doing it, though. He’s got this deep, instinctive urge to take care of Prompto, to clean him up, to share something _intimate_ like this.

 

“You two are really in deep, huh?” Nyx points out, with a laugh, when Noctis busies himself with lapping away carefully at one of the deeper gashes. Prompto whines, the noise somewhere between pain and arousal, some delicate, fine line. His fingers flex, curling around one of Noct’s horns, and they both sigh at the contact?

 

“What do you mean?” Noctis asks, in between gentle, hot drags of his tongue over the swollen rise of one of the wounds. The taste of blood is oddly pleasing, and his saliva coating the edges of the wound seems to calm some of the swelling, the raised edges smoothing out a little.

 

Nyx laughs. He’s pressed close to Prompto still, a hand lifting to ruffle through Prompto’s messy, blood-stained hair. Prompto whines a little, but he’s still shivering and cold and in pain, and he tips his head to nuzzle into Nyx’s hand.

 

“Lickin’ his wounds. And the horns,” Nyx rolls his eyes. Noctis blinks. He’s busy lapping at another of the wounds now, his saliva glistening fresh and clean on Prompto’s skin, some of the blood licked away and sticking to his lips and chin, but Nyx’s words catch his attention. He lifts his head, and his eyes lock with Nyx’s violet ones.

 

“What about the horns?” Noctis asks.

 

Nyx laughs, “you takin’ pink to your horns now? That a new fashion statement? Sticks out like a sore thumb.”

 

Noct blinks again, his amber eyes clouding with a bit of confusion. His horns are different?

 

Come to think of it, Prompto’s looked _different,_ too, and when Noctis tips his head to the side, now that he’s _looking,_ he can make it out. It’s faint, Prompto’s horns pale from the trauma and the exhaustion, but there’s a darker line running along the length of them, almost a dark, violet-blue.  Of course, then he blinks, and maybe the lighting’s changed, or maybe he imagined it all along, but it’s not quite as noticeable the next moment.

 

Noctis doesn’t want to consider the meaning of it, so he simply ducks his head back down, lapping at another line of blood. He’s at the deepest gash – one that would absolutely require stitches, if they were mortals – and Noct pays extra attention to it. His tongue works in slow, wet drags, pressing saliva into the wound, the crimson smearing across his cheek as he pauses to nuzzle in, to press his cheek there and layer hot kisses over spot.

 

“Noct…” Prompto sighs, softly. Noctis gets the feeling that Prompto’s confused by Nyx’s words, too, but it feels good, for both of them, to be concerned. Noct’s fingers are still clutching the warm cloth, and he runs that lazy over Prompto’s belly, clearing away more smears of blood, streaking crimson across his pale, toned skin.

 

“Feels better?” Noctis murmurs, and he knows it does. Noct’s still in a hell of a lot of pain. His head’s throbbing, slow and steady, in time with the thump of Prompto’s heart under his tongue. He’s sore, and his muscles feel stretched and tense and worn. It has to be so much worse for Prompto. The wounds aren’t deadly, and they’ll slowly heal. They’ll scar, but the scars will fade away, with time, because they’re flawless incubi. For now though – they’ll just _hurt,_ like hell.

 

“Little better,” Prompto agrees. Noctis drags his tongue over Prompto’s nipple, an experiment, more than anything, and the other incubus gasps, his hips rocking up and tipping forward, and Noct sighs with the press of a half-hard cock into his thigh.

 

“You hungry?” Noctis asks, and he knows the answer, with the needy way Prompto’s lifting up into him, fingers tugging at his horn as he works his tongue over a nipple.

 

“Mmm—yeah,” Prompto agrees, sighing, and Noct’s head dips further down, going back to lapping away swirls of dried blood that line his ribs and spiral down his torso in gruesome, crimson patterns. There’s some bruising, too – probably from a fall, or getting slammed into a wall – and Prompto’s gonna look like hell before he gets better. Prompto’s rutting up into his thigh, at least, and Noct’s getting there, his cock pressing against the front of his pants.

 

“You two mind taking this to the bedroom?” Nyx interrupts, suddenly, sighing heavily.

 

Noctis had forgotten, momentarily at least, that Nyx is _right there._ Funny, since he’d just been pointing out the obvious quirks of their relationship. He lifts his head away, wiping at the blood with the back of his arm – there’s still a bit staining his cheeks – and has the decency to at least look _slightly_ apologetic. They are incubi, after all. Sex is just a _thing._ It gets complicated when you’re involved with another of your kind, of course, and Prompto’s still sprawled back, half pressed into Nyx’s chest.

 

“Right,” Noctis pulls away a little. Prompto makes a quiet, disappointed sound at the loss, and he tries to wobble to his feet, but he slumps backwards against Nyx, hissing at the pain. Noct pushes past the echoes of the pain he can feel, dipping down to curl his arms around Prompto, hoisting him up, helping him hobble out of the living room. Squishy looks torn, like he wants to follow, but instead he hisses warily at Nyx and edges a bit closer to him.

 

“You think you can make it stop snowing?” Nyx asks, lounging back against the couch and sighing, “kinda stranded here.”

 

Prompto flushes a little, weakly leaning against Noct, hissing through the pain that’s jostling both of them with each step. “… don’t really know how to make it stop, sorry,” he says, managing a little laugh, as they cross the threshold into the bedroom.

 

Noctis can only roll his eyes.

 

“It’ll stop after he’s eaten and gotten some rest,” he tells Nyx, looking over his shoulder as he pauses the close the bedroom door behind them. The last thing Noctis sees is Nyx leaning over the back of the couch, grumbling and giving them the finger.

 

“Keep it down, idiots,” Nyx groans, but there’s probably _no_ chance of that happening.

 

Prompto’s already desperate and needy for real contact, when Noctis gets him pressed down into the mattress. The wounds Noct’s licked clean are glistening, slick and shiny and _clean,_ and there’s a deep sense of satisfaction working through Noct at that. He’s making things better for Prompto. He’s _helping._ Even if it’s just a bit better, it’s everything.

 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Noct finds himself saying. He draws back, only long enough to finally fumble with his own wet, messy clothing. It’s all tossed into a heap on the floor, and when Noctis dives back in, presses them skin to skin, they both sigh. Prompto’s warming up again, finally, writhing under Noct’s touch, though each frenzied motion is a little burst of pain.

 

“You worry too much,” Prompto sighs, when Noct’s lips latch onto his neck, licking and sucking at the pulse point racing under his skin. It’s a bit of an ironic statement, really, because Noctis absolutely has _every_ right to worry. He could point out every single time one of them has been in trouble, all the fights, the times Prompto’s moods have almost caused mass suicides, or storms that swept the entire city nearly into ruin.

 

“Don’t think I worry _enough,”_ Noctis points out. He dips down again, tongue working over the bitter edges of one of the wounds. Prompto gasps, his chest arching up, fingers reaching and gripping at Noct’s horns, guiding his face further down. This time, there’s no Nyx to interrupt them, and Noctis lets Prompto lead the way. There’s still heavy lines of dried blood all over his torso, sticky and dried between the defined lines of his abs. Noct busies himself with the jagged wound that runs across his stomach, from hip to the bottom of his ribs, lapping at the slice of torn flesh. It tastes bitter, like corruption, but Noctis ignores that, focuses on simply making it _better._

There’s so much blood, too. His tongue hurts and his senses are flooded with the smell of it. Prompto’s enjoying the care, though, and there’s that part of Noctis that appreciates taking care of his lover this way. It’s some sort of weird daemonic instinct, and it comes naturally. Prompto’s rocking his hips up, grinding into Noct’s half-hard cock, and they both sigh at the contact.

 

“Please,” Prompto whines, and he doesn’t need to clarify.

 

Noctis doesn’t respond, not at first. He’s too busy laying wet lines of saliva across Prompto’s lower belly, tracing down into his pelvis. He cleans up the specks of blood there. His nose bumps into the side of Prompto’s cock when he dips lower, sliding down Prompto’s body, and it’s hard for Noct to ignore the urge to drag his tongue over heated flesh, to _really_ push things forward here.

 

Prompto’s got ugly marks on his thighs, though, and so Noctis simply pauses to nuzzle in at the base of Prompto’s erection, breathing in the scent of him, before he dips further down. His tongue traces wet lines down Prompto’s inner thigh, kissing and nuzzling as he goes, and the bitter copper of blood covers his tongue and explodes his senses again. Prompto hisses, and his thighs spread further, making room for Noct to settle there, as he lavishes attention.

 

It feels _good,_ too. Noctis knows they’re both feeling good. It’s a calming sense, erupting all through him, soothing. Prompto must be starting to feel better, a bit of the pain fading away. The snow isn’t coming down as hard anymore, and it’s still showing no signs of stopping, but it’s not as violent, at least. Noctis trails kisses up Prompto’s inner thigh, pauses to kiss and nuzzle and lap lazily at his balls, then he dips back down, working along the other thigh, pressing heated kisses and wet drags of tongue there, too. It’s slowly getting heated, needier, Noct’s body responding more urgently.

 

“Noct… _now_ you’re just teasing,” Prompto hisses, when Noctis drifts back up again, tugging his thighs apart. There’s a little jolt of pain at the motion, but it’s easily ignorable, especially when Noctis pushes his face between Prompto’s thighs, lifting him up to lick a hot stripe along the cleft of his ass. The preparation is… well, unnecessary, but Prompto’s been through so much today, been in so much pain, Noct’s feeling especially doting.

 

Prompto gasps and fists at Noct’s hair, tugging a little rough, when his tongue splits him open. It’s wet and messy, and Noctis still tastes blood in his mouth, but Prompto’s responding instantly by pivoting his hips and rocking down onto the tongue pressing into him. Noct curls his tongue, lapping against hot, trembling inner walls; when Prompto whines his name, there’s such a responding rush, a _possessive_ emotion bubbling up inside. It’s gripping tight at Noct’s heart, reminding him, yet again, that he almost _lost_ this.

 

“I love you,” Noctis mumbles, when he pulls his tongue back. He spends another moment tracing his tongue in teasing little flicking circles over the tight ring of muscle, until Prompto _yanks,_ harder than he has to, and Noct gets the damn message: he’s ready enough for this.

 

“Fuck me, if you love me so much,” Prompto groans, as Noctis slides up his body. He tries to hook a leg up around Noct’s waist, but the wound on his thigh hinders him, has Prompto shuddering in pain. Noctis nudges Prompto’s legs apart, settling down heavy between them, and it’s careful, reverent, the way he gently tugs Prompto into place. There’s a moment of almost awkwardness - though it’s more tenderness, if daemons are capable of such a thing – as Noct reaches for a pillow. He settles it under Prompto’s hips, lifting him up, creating a better angle, and this time there’s less pain as Prompto hooks a leg around his hip, heel digging into the base of Noct’s spine, right over his tail.

 

“I _do_ love you so much,” Noctis breathes out, as he presses his face into Prompto’s neck. He’s bracing himself on one arm, the other reaching between them, teasing between Prompto’s thighs. They both sigh at the gentle touch, then Noct’s rocking forward, positioned, and pressing inside. It’s hot and perfect, Prompto’s body clenching around him, welcoming him, reminding Noct that _this_ is where he belongs.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto mumbles, and whether it’s an agreement, or it just feels that damn good that he can’t think of anything else to say, it doesn’t matter. His heel digs harder into Noct’s back, and his other leg trembles, spread wide and bent at the knee to Noct’s other side, as he’s split open. Prompto can’t do anything but gasp and tremble and roll his hips up as best as he can, supported by the pillow under him, as Noctis starts to move.

 

It’s not a rough fuck, not by any means. It’s desperate and needy enough, and they’re both touch-starved, high yet again on their near-loss. It has that frantic quality to it, the one where Noctis can’t quite get enough, where his hips are pivoting forward and he’s burying himself inside as deep as he can. Prompto’s gasping with the contact, keening at the hot press of skin against skin when Noct buries himself inside, all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping into Prompto’s ass with each thrust. He’s licked Prompto clean, but the wounds are still weeping around the corners, blood smearing across both their bellies and over their chests as they press together. It doesn’t matter though, because they’re high on the pleasure. Prompto’s tight and clenching around Noct’s cock with every grind of his hips, and he’s angled just. It hurts, but it’s _good,_ and Noct’s head is pounding and he doesn’t know if it’s pain or pleasure anymore. It just _is._

 

“Noct,” Prompto gasps out, when Noctis grips the back of one thigh, hiking his leg higher. It lets him go deeper, has the weeping head of his erection grinding in just right. Noctis swears, he _feels_ Prompto’s pleasure, the explosion of white bliss in the back of his head when he fucks into him, when his cock slides over his prostate. They’re both wrapped up in it. Noct’s desperately holding back his own release, but his thighs are trembling, his balls drawn up tight to his body, his cock leaking inside. Prompto’s almost there too; he’s pushed past the pain, arching up off the mattress, his head tipped back, arms wrapped tight around Noct’s neck, his erection caught between their bellies, slicked with sweat and precome and remnants of blood.

 

It’s another of those rare times when they lose themselves together – though, those times are becoming less and less rare. They’re insatiable, yeah, but it’s been a _long_ day. Prompto’s other leg lifts, and Noctis tosses it over his shoulder, and that’s _enough._ It pulls on the angry wound on Prompto’s thigh, and there’s _more_ blood, but the angle is deep and perfect. It splits Prompto open, has him outright _screaming_ Noct’s name as his cock twitches and spurts and he comes hard between them, striping their wet, sticky bellies with streaks of white. Noct’s half a second behind, Prompto contracting around his cock and pulling him deep, and he slides in, to the hilt, spilling his release. There’s nothing but bliss, a euphoric, floating feeling. It’s multiplied, intense and perfect, and Noctis outright loses himself for a few minutes.

 

Vaguely, he comes back to himself, riding out the high of orgasm, blissed out and trembling, and he realizes he’s half crushing Prompto. The other incubus doesn’t really seem to notice, either. His cock’s wet, still twitching against his belly, and Noct pulls out, lowering Prompto’s thighs back down to the bed, rolling over to collapse next to him. Prompto doesn’t move for a moment longer. His head’s tipped back, and his eyes are closed, and he’s breathing heavily.

 

Eventually, Prompto scoots closer – groaning as the pain sets back in – and Noctis helps tug him onto his side, so they’re lying, facing each other.

 

“… little better,” Prompto says, quietly, before Noct can ask. And all things considered, he _looks_ better. He’s still a bloody mess; the wounds hadn’t quite stopped bleeding, and they’ve ripped a couple open again. Prompto’s skin is marred with stripes of crimson, little lines of blood that are already drying on his skin, painting over the freckles. His eyes are brighter, though, and the grey, monochrome has faded from his horns.

 

“Good,” Noctis agrees.

 

His mind drifts back to what Nyx had said. Prompto’s horns _do_ look a little different. It’s Noct’s imagination, he’s pretty sure, but it seems like there’s a hint of different colour. He likes it, he decides, gently lifting a finger and running his thumb along the ridge, tracing the line that runs from base to spiraled tip. Prompto shudders, and lifts a hand to bat Noct’s fingers away.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto whines, “stop it. ‘s too much.”

 

“Sorry,” Noctis laughs. He curls an arm around Prompto, and tugs him close again. The angle lets him see them, curled up in the mirror as he tucks his head down on Prompto’s shoulder. Noctis tips his head, and examines his horns, and he doesn’t really know if he looks any different. Nyx had been messing with him, maybe, but he’s _tired,_ so it’s not like it matters.

 

“What are you thinking?” Prompto asks, sleepily, as he snuggles in closer. Stupid Prompto knows him _way_ too well. It makes Noctis smile, but he’s not quite ready to share _this_ knowledge. It means something. It means… maybe everything.

 

“Nothing,” Noctis says, a little too quickly. “Just… happy you’re okay. Sleep it off, Prom, you’re gonna hurt like hell in the morning.”

 

Prompto groans. “Thanks, asshole, for reminding me.” His tail twitches and curls, and he swats playfully at Noct’s shoulder, but even that hurts, and Prompto winces, and simply snuggles in closer.

 

Noctis doesn’t wanna think about why someone would attack Prompto, or what any of this means. For now, they’re safe – for the most part – and Nyx is reluctantly keeping watch out in the living room, with Squishy, and they’re okay. Everything’s okay. This has to be the end of the trouble, right? What else could possibly go wrong? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter @thatdest; tumblr @destatree. numi is @numinoceur.  
> scream at us about this AU. <3


	22. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto gets back into the costumes. And then Noctis ruins everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21!  
> sorry this was posted a little late! the tumblr post was queued to go up in time but i was at disneyland, bitches. <3  
> Today's kinks: angst!!! but before that... pole dancing, costumes, laaaace, messy blowjobs and facials. yassss.

Sometimes, Noctis regrets putting Prompto on his credit card.

 

It’s not like money is an issue. There’s a story behind it all, and needless to say, Noct’s set for… well, all of his long, hopefully immortal life. It’s easy to make money when you can invest it and reap the benefits hundreds of years later. It’s not like they _need_ much of anything to live, either. Hell, Noctis only pays rent out of the sheer good grace of his heart, because he’s more than capable of making the owner of the building outright forget that he’s there, or that they’ve never received a cheque from him.

 

Noct’s soft. He admires mortals, for living their lives, all while staring down their own mortality.

 

So, it’s not a big deal when Prompto makes impulse purchases.

 

Still, he’s torn between annoyance and amusement when he comes home and there’s a _pole_ installed smack in the middle of the living room.

 

“The fuck, Prom?” Noctis groans.

 

On the one hand, Noctis is intrigued. Prompto is naturally good at _everything_ he does, and Noct’s mind is going to all the right places. There’s only one thing Prompto could have in mind, with a purchase like this. It’s also a sign that Prompto’s finally _really_ feeling better, if he’s venturing back into adventurous territory. Those damn injuries had taken a while to stitch themselves back together, and the scars are still there, though rapidly fading. Prompto’s been… well, giving mixed signals through the whole thing. His opinion of the scars seems to rapidly switch between ‘proud battle wound’ and ‘horribly self-conscious’ and Noct can never predict what way it’s going to go.

 

Needless to say, there’s been a lot of crazy weather over the past weeks.

 

And. Fuck. Now there’s a _pole_ in Noct’s living room, and he’s not really sure what the hell they’re going to do with it once the novelty wears off. He’s gotten a tad _too_ domestic, he supposes, because he’s putting actual thought into the aesthetic and décor of their home. Goddamnit.

 

And, of course, whenever Prompto’s involved, it’s never _just_ one thing.

 

Prompto pokes his head around the edge of the door, and the _smirk_ he offers Noctis immediately screams trouble.

 

“You went hunting without me,” Prompto points out, and his expression shifts, from mischief to a haughty pout, within an instant. “Again.”

 

Noctis sighs. Prompto’s been feeling a lot better lately, yeah, but there’s been… well, feelings. Nyx isn’t sure who the fuck attacked Prompto in the first place, and Nyx is usually the go-to when there’s problematic daemons lurking around. Noctis doesn’t want to admit he’s got possessive emotions where Prompto is involved, but… he’s gotten a little overprotective, yes. And so he’s been the one out and about, doing the hunting for once. Prompto’s tagged along a few times – the other incubus doesn’t do as well feeding off another incubus as Noct does – but only when it’s necessary.

 

“You know why,” Noctis replies.

 

Prompto’s giving him a _look_ and Noct can’t quite feel bad, because there’s already heat spreading all through him. He’s nice and full, and feels content and warm, in a lazy, cat-like kind of way. Noctis could absolutely go for a nice, long fuck right about now, and then a good, longer nap afterward.

 

“Sit,” Prompto says, suddenly, gesturing vaguely at the couch.

 

Curiosity always wins out with Prompto, so naturally, Noctis _sits,_ well aware that he’s being obedient without question, and that will go _right_ to Prompto’s head.

 

Prompto grins, and slips away from the doorway, leaving Noctis alone with his thoughts to wait.

 

The pole’s tucked off to the side, at least, visible from the couch, but not blocking anything important. Like the television. That’s important. Noctis has grown increasingly fond of silly mortal inventions, like bad dramas and video games. Noctis tries to focus on the immediate things. He’s been stressed lately. They both have. Prompto’s been sore and exhausted through his recovery.

 

Noct? He’s been scared for Prompto, and he hates being scared. Nyx hasn’t dug up anything, and Luna hasn’t felt anything off. Noct even got Ignis and Gladio involved, and Ignis had been both intrigued and concerned about it all. Ignis is _usually_ concerned where Prompto is involved, but—

 

Noct’s thoughts are interrupted by Prompto, and he’s grateful for that, honestly. He doesn’t wanna waste any more energy obsessing over what’s happening, after all.

 

(For all Noct knows, anyway, it was a chance, one-off incident, anyway.)

 

“You look _stressed,”_ Prompto teases, as he steps out into the room. Noct tips his head, and he can’t quite hold back the little smile that quirks at his lips, or the way his eyes widen ever-so-slightly.

 

Prompto, of _course,_ has a fucking new costume to show off.

 

It would be hilarious, if it wasn’t so goddamn hot, too. He’s dressed like one of those slutty bunny girls, and Noctis… never really saw the appeal, if he’s being honest. Of course, now he is _very_ much aware of the appeal, because Prompto looks perfect.

 

The little black corset bodysuit he’s wearing is low-cut, showing off his defined chest and the smooth lines of his pecs. There’s a bit of jagged, faded scar peeking out from under the curved bust-line of the tight outfit, but somehow, that only makes him look _better._ The bottom of the costume is high-cut along the thighs, and it’s tight in the crotch, showing off the faintest outline of his cock, and Prompto’s got matching thigh-high fishnets. There’s a nice, revealed stretch of upper thigh that has Noct’s hands itching to touch. And, of course, Prompto’s wearing a big, floppy pair of black bunny ears that perk up nicely against his blonde hair, standing out stark too against his horns, a splash of pink and blue and that new purple streak.

 

“You look good,” Noct replies, dumbly, as Prompto saunters over.

 

His stupid lover laughs in response, and does a little spin, and of course, the whole costume is topped off with a fluffy bunny tail that’s nestled right above the base of his _actual_ tail. Somehow, that extra little detail alone has Noct’s pants getting tighter. He can see the swell of the bottom of Prompto’s ass peeking out from the back of the costume. And, he swears, when Prompto’s thighs flex and the tight fabric of the costume stretches, he swears he gets the faintest glimpse of lace along the edges, underneath.

 

Fuck.

 

“So,” Prompto says, getting right to business, hands on his hips. He straightens his shoulders, jutting his hips out, and he looks _very_ much like a bossy, spoiled brat. It’s a good look, Noctis has to admit, as he settles back against the couch cushions, making himself comfortable.

 

“So,” Noctis echoes back.

 

Prompto glares, and Noct promptly shuts his mouth.

 

“So, since you’ve been making me _relax,”_ and Prompto speaks the word like it’s a dirty, awful thing, “I’ve been watching videos online. Pole dancing looks _fun.”_

 

Noctis fights back the urge to point out that pole dancing is also apparently extremely difficult, because it’s not like Prompto’s going to listen. And, hell, worst case scenario? He gets to see Prompto flail around on a pole in a sexy outfit before the other incubus manages to smash his face in. It can’t be worse than the tentacle. Or the hellhound-inflicted injuries. Or the half-deaths, or the ripped piercings…

 

“You gonna put on a show then?” Noctis asks. He lazily lifts a hand and palms over his half-hard cock, and he hears the tiny, pleased sound Prompto makes, the way his hips rock forward just a little. Prompto gets off on being watched, on _knowing_ that he looks good.

 

“Obviously,” Prompto agrees, “and no getting handsy, Noctis. You’re _already_ touching yourself, fuck, you’re supposed to be the patient one!”

 

Noctis responds by squeezing his half-hard length through his pants, showing off the distinct, growing bulge. Prompto’s totally watching, and he simply stands for a moment, before narrowing his eyes and huffing and sauntering over to the pole.

 

Noct’s not sure how this is gonna go, but Prompto _definitely_ has the goddamn hip strut mastered. He also knows just how to grip the damn pole, arms stretched high over his head, back arching, one leg lifting to curl around the pole. He poses like that, dramatically arched, all on display, gorgeous freckle-kissed skin, blonde hair mussed as his head tosses back.

 

Then, Prompto hoists himself up, his other leg outstretched, and Noctis has to admit, _okay,_ Prompto may have an idea of what he’s doing.

 

It helps, of course, that daemons are powerful. They’re stronger than any human just by sheer nature of what they are. Prompto’s toned, yeah, all taut, lean muscle, but he’s _powerful._ He has the upper body strength to lift himself up, to spin and twirl lazily along the pole, and it looks _good._

 

Prompto’s got a grace to him, too, that Noctis doesn’t quite understand. When they’re just lounging, day-to-day, Prompto tends to trip over the coffee table, or drop shit totally randomly, all scatter-brained and distracted. When he’s got some sexual purpose in mind, though? He absolutely shifts into the most graceful, lithe, gorgeous thing Noct’s ever seen. This is absolutely no exception.

 

The stupid little bunny suit was a good idea, too, because it shows off the smooth flex of Prompto’s thighs as he twists and contorts himself along the pole. His shoulders flex, and he twists in the air, spinning backwards, coming back in and curling both legs around as he hoists himself further up.

 

It’s hot, and Noctis lazily slips a hand over his belly, pushing the edge of his shirt higher, revealing a bit of belly as he lazily traces along his own abs, desperate for a bit of touching. Prompto isn’t paying him much attention, either, and that’s hot in itself. The other incubus is all narrowed eyes, focused and intent on what he’s doing. He swings back, and when he comes back in, the momentum drives him forward, one leg stretching up, over his head. Noct hisses, and he swears there’s a thin beading of sweat shining on Prompto’s forehead as he contorts and twists into an upside down-bridge position, one leg hooked around the pole, the other outstretched.

 

“Fuck,” Noctis hisses, and that seems to distract Prompto a little. He swings back down, laughing brightly as he evens out again, one hand hooked around the pole, legs bent as he twirls back down. His face is glowing with pride, chest heaving a little with the exertion, but overall, Prompto looks _very_ pleased with himself.

 

“Someone’s getting off on this,” Prompto teases. He grips at the pole again, dipping down into a half-squat, ass jutting forward, the stupid little bunny tail wiggling in Noct’s direction as one long, stockinged leg curls around the pole again. Prompto straddles the damn pole, and Noct wishes it was _him_ he was straddling, and then he works his way back up again, shoulders tight, arms corded and tight as he twists and pulls himself back up. His eyes are flashing as he sneaks a peek at Noct, legs uncurling from the pole to spread and stretch in the air, on either side, lewdly on display.

 

Noctis half-hopes Prompto falls flat on his fucking smug face, just so that he’ll live this down. At the same time, he hopes it never ends.

 

“You _do_ this so that I’ll get off,” Noctis points out. Prompto laughs, and slowly slides back down the pole, again, twisting his hands and using the momentum to do a graceful little twirl, hooking his knee around as he comes back down.

 

“Bet you wanna touch,” Prompto replies, as he lands gracefully enough, hopping away from the pole to saunter over. His eyes are bright, shining blue and pink, narrowed in on where Noct’s hand is stroking along the curve of his pelvis. His pants are riding low on his hips, and the outline of his mostly-hard cock is totally visible through the fabric.

 

“Yeah, I do,” Noctis doesn’t bother to deny it. He’s given up on simple concepts like _shame_ a long time ago.

 

Prompto laughs. He saunters over, and when Noctis lifts a hand to reach for him, Prompto shakes his head and lifts a foot, pressing his toe directly into Noct’s crotch. The touch is a little  _too_ rough to be fully enjoyable, but really, Noctis gets off on Prompto taking over and showing a bit of roughness, too. And, in any case, the view of him, standing over Noct, long, stocking-covered leg outstretched, is _very_ appealing.

 

“No touching the dancer, Noctis,” Prompto taunts, with a laugh. He nudges his toe down, tracing over the outline of Noct’s cock, dipping down to press into his balls. Noct can’t quite hold back the sharp little rock of his hips, pressing up into the touch. It makes Prompto laugh more though, and he steps back, his hips swaying as he reaches behind to work at the tie of the tight little corset he’s wearing.

 

“So, you don’t want help getting that off?” Noctis asks. The sight is enjoyable in itself, Prompto’s chest jutting forward, back arched as he wiggles and tugs at the criss-crossing ribbons.

 

Prompto pauses to stick his tongue out. “Fuck you, Noctis, I can handle it.”

 

Noct laughs, and of course, Prompto can. It takes a bit of wiggling, a small amount of cursing when the ties get stuck, but finally he wriggles out of the corset, revealing the delicious stretch of his belly as he works the costume down over his hips and steps out of it. Noct momentarily remembers that he’d seen _lace,_ and then yeah, he’s rewarded with a very nice view.

 

Prompto’s fully naked, except for the stockings and a pair of high-waisted, lace panties, ones that show off the smooth curve of his thighs. His cock’s visible, trapped underneath the lace, and he’s fully hard. The crotch of the panties isn’t quite big enough, and his balls are peeking out, and on anyone else? It might be silly. On Prompto, all smooth skin, and wide hips and perfect sexual energy? It’s the hottest thing ever.

 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Noctis groans, and Prompto, just for an _instant,_ looks properly flustered. It’s just a brief, fleeting expression though, and then it shifts back to the confidence, and he laughs haughtily, shifting his weight to one hip, back arching, putting himself on display.

 

“Don’t think you’ll win me over _that_ easily, Noctis,” Prompto teases. He spins on his heels, and the back of the damn lace panties is somehow even nicer than the front. It’s high-cut in the back, too, showing off the delicious curve of his ass, accentuating the swell of his cheeks. There’s a nice little loop of ribbon, too, tied up the back, topping the whole affair off with a little bow that Noct wants to get his teeth on.

 

Prompto’s absolutely shameless now, as he hops back onto the pole. He wastes no time in shimmying up it, thighs curling strong around the pole as he flips in the air, so he’s upside down, back arched, one leg outstretched, the other curled around. Noctis doesn’t know where to look. There’s a lot to look at. His eyes linger on the delicious chest that’s contorting and jutting forward as Prompto flips himself upright again, then trail down to watch his thighs flex. His cock’s trapped in those damn lace panties still, and when Prompto twirls around the pole, the metal presses right against his flushed, hard cock, and Noctis totally doesn’t miss the quiet little hiss.

 

Prompto swings down off the bar again. It’s his impatience. It’s always the damn impatience that works in Noct’s favor. Noctis isn’t helping, because he’s already tugged his shirt off over his head, and he’s settled back on the couch again, fingers plucking lazily at one of his own nipples. Prompto’s tongue ring clacks against his teeth as he saunters forward again.

 

“Told you no touching,” Prompto points out lazily. Noctis tips his head to the side, pinching at a nipple, rolling the stiff nub between his fingers. Noct’s other hand trails down, over his flat, toned belly, dipping into the band of his pants. He doesn’t reply at first, and he feels Prompto’s gaze locked onto him as he works his hand further, closing it around the shaft of his cock.

 

“You said no touching _you._ Didn’t say I couldn’t touch myself,” Noct points out.

 

Prompto looks flushed, and just a little bit flustered. The panties are riding up higher, and the lace over his trapped cock must be agony. He’s still wearing the silly little ears, too, but they’ve shifted to the side from the exertion of messing around on the pole. Somehow, having them sit jauntily and lopsided on Prompto’s head makes them _that_ much more appealing.

 

“You’re just jealous cuz _you_ want to be touching me,” Noctis adds, and that’s apparently the final straw, because Prompto’s crawling into his lap an instant later.

 

Their lips press together, hot and frantic, though Prompto’s grip is iron, when Noctis tries to curl his arms around him. He wrenches Noct’s hands away from his waist, pinning them at his side, grinding his cock hard against his belly. Prompto gasps into the rough kiss, teeth pulling at Noct’s lower lip as he ruts his aching erection into Noct’s belly. Noctis both loves and curses the lace. It’s a strange texture between them, a different sort of friction, and he’s longing to feel the hard, throbbing press of Prompto’s bare cock. He can feel the heat radiating from him, though, and the lace is wet and sticky where the precome’s soaked through.

 

Prompto’s panting heavily, his freckled cheeks flushed when he pulls away. Noctis doesn’t know, at this point, which of them gets off more on the silly costumes Prompto likes to wear. Obviously, Noctis appreciates it. He loves how Prompto looks, and he loves this crazy hypersexual confidence he’s swept up in. Of course, incubi _always_ have that sexual confidence thing going, but it’s… enhanced, altered slightly, when Prompto’s like this.

 

It never takes much to get Prompto going, though, when he’s showing off, when he’s putting himself on display for Noct’s pleasure.

 

“You totally want me,” Prompto purrs, going in for another kiss. His fingers are still closed over Noct’s, keeping him from touching, and they both sigh as Prompto’s hips roll forward, grinding his lace-covered cock into the muscle of his belly again.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, lazily, though there’s an edge of neediness in his voice that totally betrays him. “You wanna fuck me?”

 

It’s maybe the wrong thing to say. Prompto pauses, for a moment. He tips his head to the side, and the motion finally jolts the silly ears from his head. They fall to the side, and land on the floor, forgotten.

 

“… no,” Prompto says, after a hesitation.

 

It’s something they should talk about. Noct knows that, and the moment’s hesitation cuts through the sexual tension of the moment, just for an instant. Prompto’s been hesitant about _really_ taking control, ever since their incident where Prompto almost lost it. They’ve kept it under control, swept under the rug, and—they should talk about it.

 

Instead, Prompto goes in for another rough kiss, and he releases Noct’s hands, silent permission that he can touch. And Noct, fuck it, he _wants_ to touch.

 

Noct’s hands find Prompto’s hips and tug him up, as he scoots down a little on the couch cushions. They meet partway, Prompto’s thighs spread on either side of Noct’s shoulders. Prompto lifts a hand, reaching forward to balance on the back of the couch, and his crotch is face-level with Noctis. They _both_ know where this is going, but Prompto rocks his hips forward, grinding his barely-concealed cock into Noct’s face.

 

Noctis is ready for it, and he presses his tongue, hot and wet, in a heavy stripe along the lace-covered, thick underside. Prompto groans, gripping harder at the couch, back arching in a beautiful curve, as he presses in, eager for more of the touch.

 

“Still don’t want me to touch?” Noctis teases, his fingers gripping rough at Prompto’s hips, hard enough to leave marks. His thumb finds the line of hip piercings, hidden under the high-waisted lace panties, and rubs over them. Prompto’s sensitive there, and he gasps and keens forward, and Noctis can taste the salty musk of precome on his tongue, through the damp fabric.

 

Prompto doesn’t respond right away. Noctis is tempted to draw his face away, but torturing Prompto is _way_ too nice. He drags his tongue over the head of his cock, teasing the spot under the heat with the very tip of his tongue through the fine lace. Noctis knows it feels good, the extra friction and the constriction offered by the lace, and Prompto can’t quite swallow down his pleased sounds. He rocks his hips forward, sliding his cock over Noct’s lips, and Noct’s tongue follows. He traces the heavy vein underneath, tip-to-base, pausing to nuzzle into Prompto’s tightly drawn balls, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the exposed flesh peeking out. A hand drifts, hooking into the crotch of the panties, and Noct laughs, all hot air and vibration as his fingers press into the sensitive skin behind Prompto’s balls.

 

Prompto gasps, and his hips rut forward. He’s achingly hard, the tip of his cock leaking steadily through the lace, leaving a slick trail across Noct’s cheek. Noct tips his head again, draws the tip into his mouth, suckling lazily through the lace, tongue swirling over the tip and poking into the tiny holes patterned through the lace.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto hisses, one hand shifting to tangle in Noct’s hair, right at the base of his horn, guiding his face closer, “you can touch. You can do – ah – whatever you want, Noct.”

 

Noctis laughs, and the vibrations work all through Prompto, have him gasping and twitching and leaking wet against his tongue. He presses his fingers harder into Prompto’s perineum, working pleasure through him, and when Prompto tosses his head back and grips _hard_ at Noct’s shoulder, it’s a jolt of heat right through him.

 

Noct’s not entirely thinking, either. His releases Prompto’s cock from his mouth, head tipping to the side, and he lays more wet drags of tongue before closing his teeth around the lace and _tugging._ Prompto gasps out – he gets off on the danger of having teeth so close to sensitive places – and there’s a harsh ripping sound, as Noct’s teeth tear out the front of the lace panties.

 

“Noct!” Prompto groans, his cock springing free from its confines, now that the panties are ruined, “I _just_ bought those.”

 

“Said I could do whatever I want,” Noctis replies, smartly, and he closes his lips properly around the wet tip of Prompto’s cock again. Prompto can’t quite find it in him to complain, and instead, he rolls his hips forward, burying himself deeper into Noct’s mouth. Noctis is expecting it, and he tips his head back, groans wetly as Prompto’s cock bumps the back of his throat, and lets Prompto take control, at least for the moment.

 

It’s messy and it’s a little desperate, as it always is, when Prompto gets into it. One hand grips rough at Noct’s head, his fingers twisting, shifting from grabbing at Noct’s hair to grip at the curve of his horn instead. His hips are moving, steady at first, though the pace increases, becomes more urgent and needy as the pleasure starts to course through him. Prompto’s hips surge forward quick and fast, his balls slapping into Noct’s chin as he picks up the pace. Noct’s fingers grip at Prompto’s hip, digging into the piercings that are still half-hidden by torn lace, and he chokes and makes wet noises around Prompto’s cock each time he bottoms out.

 

It’s messy as hell, Noct’s lips and chin and cheeks slick with saliva and the bitter salt of precome. Noct doesn’t mind though. He’s hard as hell in his pants, his cock throbbing and trapped, and his hips are lifting, seeking out contact that he isn’t getting. It’s almost hot, being denied, existing _solely_ as a creature for Prompto’s comfort, for once. Noct drags his tongue heavy along the underside of Prompto’s cock, swirling over the tip when he draws his hips back, tracing all the way down to the base when Prompto slams forward again.

 

Abruptly, Prompto draws his hips back, his cock popping free from Noct’s closed lips with a lewd sound, and Noct knows he’s about to come, by the way his thighs are trembling and quaking, the way his cock’s twitching, and his chest heaves, and Prompto’s breath comes all quick and desperate.

 

“Fuck—” Prompto hisses, as Noct leans forward to go back in, “I wanna—”

 

Prompto can’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to, because Noct’s leaning in, nuzzling his cheek right into the weeping head of Prompto’s cock. His hand shifts, from hip to curl around Prompto’s erection, and he strokes him rough and fast, tip to base, twisting at the head, fingers rubbing along the ridge and teasing the underside. Prompto _cries,_ and his hips snap forward, and then he’s coming, wet and messy, spurting his release hot all over Noct’s face. It gets everywhere, dripping down his cheeks and chin, stray strands shooting into his hair.

 

Noctis strokes Prompto, works him through his release, tipping his head to mouth at the tip as he milks his cock dry. Prompto’s moaning his name, an incessant, constant, “Noct, Noct, fuck—” as he rides it out, and he only draws back, sitting heavily on Noct’s lap, when he’s exhausted and spent. It’s friction against Noct’s still aching cock when Prompto settles down there, and he can’t help but groan, even though he’s a mess, his face covered with Prompto’s release.

 

Prompto doesn’t seem to care, either, because he’s leaning in, pressing his lips to Noct’s. If it bothers Prompto, he doesn’t show it – fuck, he probably _enjoys_ spreading the mess between them. The taste of come mingles between them, all salty and bitter, and Prompto moans in response. He curls his arms around Noct’s neck, grinding his hips down, the cleft of his ass rough, hot friction against Noct’s hard length.

 

Noctis has the urge to get inside Prompto, but fuck, he’s more worked up than he thought he was. His cock’s twitching and his pants are wet where the tip’s grinding against the fabric, caught up against the curve of Prompto’s ass. Prompto’s grinding down into him, rocking his hips in wide, smooth circles, the friction hot. There’s a tight knot of pleasure building in Noct’s belly. Prompto’s lips are wet and desperate and frantic against his, and everything’s hot and building _fast._

 

Noctis _moans_ when Prompto’s lips pull away from his, because a split second later, Prompto’s working kisses from the corner of his mouth, along his jaw, tongue trailing as he laps his own mess up off Noct’s skin. It’s messy and it’s _hot,_ and Noct can’t keep his own hips steady now. He’s grinding steadily into Prompto’s still lace-clad ass, and somehow the layer of clothing between them adds a second level of desperation. Noct’s erection is twitching, pulsing as the need builds, as his body starts to get all heavy, his fingers gripping rough into Prompto’s hips, guiding the motions.

 

Noctis doesn’t have it in him to care when he comes in his pants, rutting and grinding his cock up into Prompto like they’re a couple of horny teenagers, instead of centuries-old sex daemons. Prompto’s teeth are grazing his skin, his lips closed in hot suction around a sensitive spot, and it feels _amazing._ They’re pressed chest to chest, and the swell of his ass feels good, and all Noct can do is arch his hips up and cling to Prompto and gasp and sputter through his release. Prompto slowly stops rocking his hips, slowly presses closer, until they’re skin against skin, sticky and messy and ruined.

 

“… I need to change my pants,” Noctis says, lazily, after a few moments. He’s stroking his fingers slowly up Prompto’s spine now, rubbing the bumps of his vertebrae in soft, almost reverent presses of his fingertips.

 

Prompto laughs, and draws back a little. His lips are shining with mess, kiss-swollen and gorgeous, and he tips his head. “Serves you right. I gotta buy new panties now.”

 

“Yeah, you do,” Noctis agrees. He _likes_ the panties. He probably shouldn’t have ruined them.

 

Prompto snuggles in closer, and Noct’s head tips to the side. His fingers keep moving over the other incubus’s spine, up to his shoulder blades, then back down again, fingers brushing over the heavy base of his tail. Prompto laughs a little at the sensation, his tail flicking, the tip curling around Noct’s wrist, and it’s an oddly intimate moment.

 

Pressed this close, too, Noctis can see the clear outline of Prompto’s horns. They’re vibrant again, pink and blue, and there’s that curious, heavy line of dark violet-blue. It’s… a strange combination, like a clear sky meeting sunset, with a streak of deep night mixing it all up. It’s chaotic and complicated—and so much like Prompto, it almost hurts Noct’s mind to think about it.

 

“… your horns,” Noct finds himself saying, quietly. “… they really _are_ different. It’s… strange.”

 

Prompto tenses in his arms, and lifts his head up, and the expression he fixes Noctis with is one that Noct doesn’t quite recognize. It’s… defensive, almost, maybe tinged with fear. “Different?”

 

Noctis blinks. His mind’s still all hazy and warm in the afterglow of sex, and he’s not entirely thinking straight. He’s never really given much thought to the other incubus’s horns before. Prompto is simply _Prompto._ Now, though, with that streak of dark purple-blue, Noct’s made the connection that he _does_ look different from other daemons.

 

“I just meant the purple,” Noctis tries to keep his voice casual.

 

Prompto, of course, sees right through him. Noctis doesn’t really understand the flittering of emotion that crosses Prompto’s face. He goes from confused, to thoughtful, to… some strange, dawning realization, something that makes Noct’s stomach twist up in a tightly drawn knot, and not the good kind.

 

“… purple,” Prompto says, quietly. “Noct, is _everyone_ else purple?”

 

Noctis doesn’t answer right away. They’re not all the same shades, of course. Noctis hasn’t met every other incubus out there, either, not by a long shot. But he’s met a couple with lavender hues, and of course, Noct’s horns are darker, more midnight-blue at the tips than proper purple. But… Prompto’s the only one he’s ever met with _pink,_ with bright, clashing, vibrant colour.

 

“I guess,” Noctis admits, after a moment. Prompto tips his head away, sharply refusing to meet Noct’s eyes. He shifts awkwardly, and lifts up out of his lap.

 

Noctis doesn’t really know what to say. One moment, they were basking in the afterglow, and the next, Prompto’s crawling out of his lap. He doesn’t go very far, just settles down heavily on the couch next to Noctis, the torn front of the lace panties still hanging in strips across his thighs, the stockings half-worked down his thighs. Prompto’s hair is a mess, and his face is streaked with sex, and his horns… bright, _different,_ stand out against everything.

 

“I never said it was a bad thing—” Noctis tries to say.

 

Prompto shakes his head, and silences him, and he only flinches away for a second, when Noct curls an arm around his waist. Then Prompto nods, and the smile he offers Noctis is only a little forced, as he snuggles in again.

 

“Right,” Prompto says, and Noct is concerned by the faint quiver he hears in the word, “I know, Noct. But… _someone’s_ gotta look like me, right?”

 

Noctis doesn’t know what to say. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, “You’re _you.”_

 

Prompto buries his head in Noct’s shoulder, and Noctis doesn’t notice the way the other daemon’s eyes are wet around the edges, or the way his breath hitches. For the first time, Prompto’s realizing he’s _different._ He’s got the powers, yeah, but there’s _more_ to it. For the first fucking time, Prompto’s truly asking himself _why._

 

Noctis is oblivious to it, though, and so he simply tugs Prompto closer, and closes his eyes, and dozes off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just sayin, THE ART IS [really fuckin' good](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/921969525670551553) for today so pls follow Numi on Twitter to see the spice. <3   
> (some smol kid behind me in line at the Halloween Guardians ride almost got to see it too, oops.)   
> You know where to find us. twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree. numi is @numinoceur.  
> see ya tomorrow.


	23. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Noctis need to talk, but they aren't saying anything. Because Prompto is different, and he can't shake the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, welcome to day 22. my brain hurts. zzz.  
> i followed the kinktober prompts today: collars and scars.   
> however, it's... mostly just angstober at this point, so take it with a grain of salt.

It’s funny, how an issue that’s never _really_ crossed Prompto’s mind before is suddenly all he can think about. It’s stupid, how _mortal_ they’ve become, really.

 

Incubi aren’t supposed to have insecurities. Prompto knows that much. And… well, in the past, before _Noctis,_ he didn’t. Come to think of it, before Noctis, Prompto didn’t have much of anything. He doesn’t remember much. It’s all a blur. He knows he’d been different. He remembers this strange, all-consuming feeling of being hungry and exhausted and never satisfied. He’d been insatiable, always searching, always with a feeling of some vast purpose, something bigger than himself, maybe.

 

His head hurts, when he tries to remember it too much.

 

Right now, Prompto’s sitting, perched on the edge of the bed. He’s examining himself in the mirror. Noct’s asleep on the other side of the bed, curled up and content, and normally, Prompto would be happy to curl up next to him and watch him sleep.

 

Instead, Prompto’s running his fingers over the fading scars on his chest. Someone had come after him, and he doesn’t know _why._ That’s not what’s bothering him; what’s bothering him is that he feels like he _should_ know why. It’s a thought that’s just out of his grasp, dangling and taunting him. Prompto swears he’s been here before, in another time, long ago, before he’d figured out who he is.

 

Or… has he figured out who he is? Prompto tips his head, and he stares at himself in the mirror some more.

 

It’s sunset. Noctis sleeps a lot, and time doesn’t really have much meaning. The curtains are open, though, and there’s golden light filtering in. It catches in Prompto’s hair, making it glow. It’s casting orange rays over his horns, too, and that’s less appealing. His horns. Prompto sighs, and lifts a hand to his horns, delicately tracing a finger over the thick line of deep purple that runs, all the way from the base to the very tip. The touch makes him shudder, and normally it’d be a very nice, deep-seated sort of pleasure. Now, though? Just another fucking reminder that he’s different.

 

Prompto can’t help but dwell on it. Noct’s horns are the most beautiful purple Noct’s ever seen. He turns in place a little, glances over his shoulder, and Noct’s on his stomach, face buried into the pillow, a hand outstretched in his direction. Prompto’s fingers itch to curl his hand over Noct’s, to snuggle up warm and happy into his chest and go back to sleep. That’s _all_ he wants, but his heart feels like there’s a hole, and nothing is quite right.

 

And, of course, Noct’s formerly beautiful, purple horns now have that long line of bright pink running through them. It stands out, Nyx had said. It looks like Noct’s taking paint and smeared it straight down the middle. Prompto can’t unhear it, and he can’t unsee it. Noct doesn’t seem bothered by it, but…

 

Prompto sighs. Nyx has purple horns. Luna does too. And Ignis. And Gladio. And every other fucking daemon he’s ever met. Different shades, yeah, but… they aren’t an ugly pink and blue. It’s just Prompto. He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes, because he can’t look at his reflection anymore.

 

Noctis had fucked him earlier. The dampness is still between his thighs, and that heavy, warm afterglow is still making his body feel all tingly. Despite that, the golden light is slowly filtering into grey. Rain clouds are forming in the sky. Prompto knows _that’s_ his fault, too.

 

Prompto sighs.

 

If it gets much worse, Luna will show up, because everyone’s going to be in a terrible mood. Prompto hates that Luna and Nyx keep having to show up and play babysitter. He _knows_ Noctis is frustrated by it, too, even if he doesn’t voice it that often. Of course, the panic is slowly starting to bubble. It’s _always_ this way. The more Prompto gets upset about the inevitable happening, the faster the inevitable _happens._ He _wishes_ the weather would stop churning and roiling outside. Prompto _wants_ to stop it, and he can’t quite hold back the sob that’s escaping his lips, or the tight grip on his heart, or the way he suddenly feels like he needs to both simultaneously scream and hide—

 

A tiny touch at his wrist centers him, pulls him firmly back onto the ground. Prompto blinks, and he takes a deep, heaving breath (one he doesn’t even _need_ to take). Outside, there’s still a storm building heavy in the sky, but at least Prompto feels like he’s _here_ again, instead of falling, descending into a spiral.

 

Squishy’s on the bed next to him. The malboro has a tentacle curled around his wrist, and it’s an anchor, keeping him from losing it. Prompto sighs, and he reaches over, pulling the malboro into his arms. Squishy makes a quiet purring sound and settles across his lap. His little tentacles curl around Prompto, and it’s nice. It makes Prompto feel just a little bit better.

 

“Thanks, Squish,” Prompto mumbles. Squishy makes a gurgling noise, and stays there, as Prompto continues to stare himself down in the mirror. Eventually he drags his eyes away, and he scoots back closer to Noctis.

 

Noct makes a sleepy noise when Prompto presses himself in close. He can’t bear to look at Noct – the horns are just so _different,_ and that stripe of colour feels like he’s dragging Noct down to hell with him. It’s a dumb thought. Noctis doesn’t seem to care. Prompto knows better, though. It’s… like there’s a secret, and he should know it, but he doesn’t. So he presses his back warm into Noct’s chest. Squishy stays close, and he takes up a spot curled up under the crook of Prompto’s neck. Normally, he likes to snuggle into Noct’s chest – it’s warmer – but Squishy always _knows_ what he needs.

 

He’s a good boy, Prompto thinks, idly, lifting a hand to stroke along a little tentacle. Squishy purrs, and the sound, eventually, pulls Prompto into an uneasy sleep. It’s not peaceful, and he can’t escape his fears. The rain starts, as he drifts off, and it continues on into a ferocious storm while his doubts permeate his dreams

 

\---

 

Noct’s lips are on his skin, and it feels _good._

 

Prompto tosses his head back against the pillow, and he sighs at the pull of the thick, leather collar that’s wrapped around his neck. Sometimes, he just needs to _let go,_ to feel like he’s entirely under Noct’s control. Noct always fucking knows when Prompto’s in the mood for that.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Noct’s mumbling, his lips trailing over Prompto’s collarbone. Fuck, Prompto doesn’t know if he believes it, but for a little while, he _feels_ it, because Noct’s lips are reverent, tongue trailing wet lines, heat and fire over his sweat-slicked skin. He traces the line of his collar, works down his chest. Prompto gasps and arches up off the bed as Noct’s lips close around a nipple, tugging at it, teeth playing with the piercing. Prompto’s erection is aching, hard and full against his belly. Noct’s lips are moving again, never staying still for long, licking a heavy swipe across his heaving chest, paying attention to the opposite nipple.

 

Noct’s hair tickles Prompto’s chest as he works down. His tongue traces the heavy lines of the nearly faded scars across his chest, from the attack. Prompto wishes they’d go away, and it breaks into the reverie, disrupting the fantasy as Noct’s tongue swirls wet around the slightly raised skin. Prompto wants to lift a hand to push Noct’s head away – but his wrists are cuffed to the bed, and he can only writhe a little, head tipping back further. He almost tells Noct to stop, but the collar is putting hot pressure on his throat, catching his breath just a little, and the sudden rush of _submission_ pushes it all aside, all over again, crashing over him like a wave.

 

Prompto feels a little bit battered and broken, but Noct’s lips drift from the scar, wet tongue lashing over his ribs, and _that_ feels good again.

 

“Noct,” Prompto whines, when Noct’s tongue works over the next scar, the one that runs down his side. He can’t find the presence to really _protest_ that one, because his hips are sensitive, and Noct’s tongue barely lingers on the scar, before he’s playing with the surface piercings that dot his hips, clever tongue teasing the studs, fingers dancing across Prompto’s belly, dipping into the curve of his abdominal muscles, tracing his body and memorizing it. Noct’s memorized his body a long time ago, of course, but it feels nice. It feels _especially_ nice, the way his fingers brush teasingly over the tip of Prompto’s cock, and swipe through the little pool of sticky-wet precome that’s messy on his belly.

 

“Fuck, you look good,” Noct’s voice is low and intent as he dips lower. His hair tickles Prompto’s belly, wet pressure tracing the v-curve of his pelvis, and then there’s a hot tongue dragging heavy along the thick underside of his cock. Prompto groans, and his hips jerk, and he finds it hard to come up with a suitable response.

 

Noctis _knows_ something’s up. Prompto knows that, on some level. They both are skirting the issue. Prompto’s not helping, because he shuts Noct down every attempt he makes, and… well, Noctis isn’t the best with words. Prompto isn’t _entirely_ dumb. Several hundred years spent with someone, after all, means he’s picked up on a lot of Noct’s habits and tendencies. Noctis is _terrible_ with words.

 

Prompto should maybe talk about it—but, well, Noct’s lips are closing around the head of his cock, and he can’t think about _anything_ else.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto says, instead. His arms shift, tugging at the cuffs, and he _wants_ to tangle his fingers in Noct’s hair. He wants to look down, to watch Noct’s lips drawn tight and wide around his cock as he goes down on him, taking him into his throat. Prompto twists up, lifts his head, but when he stares down, when he gets a glimpse of Noct, all he can fucking _see_ are his horns, violet, with that bright, _burning_ splash of pink that’s so fucking out of place.

 

Prompto’s hips falter, and it feels _amazing,_ so goddamn good, Noctis going down on him, but his erection is flagging anyway, a jolt of panic kicking in. He turns his head away, and squeezes his eyes shut, and fuck, he feels that familiar bubble of panic—

 

“Prom?” Noctis senses it, because Prompto’s erection is softening between his hips. He pulls away with a wet, popping noise, but Prompto can’t bring himself to look. He’s in darkness, and he tugs at his hands, but they’re _tied,_ and the heavy collar around his neck is helping him, reminding him that he’s _Noct’s,_ that he belongs here, but it’s not enough—

 

“Fuck me,” Prompto hisses. He needs to _feel,_ he needs Noctis to chase the feelings away. Words don’t do it, and somehow Noctis being so _concerned_ only makes it worse. Prompto doesn’t wanna talk about it, he doesn’t want yet another reminder that he’s different. He knows he is. He can’t erase that knowledge now. So, he twists, and lifts his hips. Prompto’s an incubus, after all. He knows _that_ much. Sex is what he does, and he’s good at it, and he can chase the bad away. “Wanna be on my knees for you, Noct.”

 

There’s a moment’s pause – one where Noct’s lips are tracing the inside of his thigh – and Prompto worries, for a split second, that fucking Noct is gonna pick this exact moment to finally talk about things, to bring up the subject they’ve been pointedly avoiding. Then, Noct’s gripping at his hips, roughly flipping him, and Prompto shudders and groans his response. The cuffs are long enough to twist, and there’s a nice, _rough_ pull at his wrists as they’re crossed over each other, tugging and cutting in. Prompto likes the pain. The pain cuts through the panic, it’s grounding. It’s a pain that he can control, that he can push away and stop from feeling if he really wants to, because it’s just physical pain from sex. Incubi can – mostly – control that.

 

Prompto doesn’t wanna control it though. He wants to _feel._ So he buries his face in the mattress, feeling the collar cutting into him, gasping when Noct grabs his hips and pulls his ass high in the air. His spine’s sharply curved, his cheek pressed into the sheets, breath hot puffs around him as he can’t quite get his bearings, can’t quite gulp down enough air to support his rapid-pounding heart.

 

Prompto feels light-headed, in uncomfortable bits of pain when Noct grips at his hips hard, slamming forward and burying himself inside. Fuck, Prompto wants _that_ to hurt, too. He gasps and moans Noct’s name, muffled into the sheets, as Noctis bottoms out. There’s the hot slap of skin on skin, Noct’s balls pressed into the curve of his ass, and Prompto’s hard again, his cock hanging down heavy between his thighs. He _wants_ to forget. He wants Noctis to use him, to treat him like an object, because if he’s just a thing that belongs to Noct, it’s so much easier—

 

“Please,” Prompto gasps, when Noctis starts to fuck into him, rough and heavy, deep thrusts that slam into his prostate and having him seeing stars, “more.”

 

Maybe Noctis should know better. Or hell, maybe this _is_ knowing better. This is what they’re made for. They’re creatures of pure pleasure, of physical desire. They aren’t built for everything else. They certainly aren’t supposed to be insecure, or terrified, or worrying about being _different._ Either way, Prompto lets himself get lost in it. It’s easier to focus on the pleasure thrumming through him, the rough pain-pleasure of being split open. He doesn’t have to _see_ Noctis like this, his face buried into the sheets. All he can feel is the roughness of Noct’s hands gripping, digging in and cutting little jolts of pain into him, and the ever-present heat of being _full._ It’s hot friction, stars bursting in front of his closed eyes, bright spots of light against darkness, with every thrust that Noct works into him. Prompto’s thighs are shaking, and his wrists twist and ache, and the collar’s making it harder to breathe. Noct’s hand slips, presses on his back, between his shoulder blades, and it shoves Prompto’s face deeper into the mattress. His breath catches and he can’t breathe and his cock twitches wet and heavy against his belly, and it feels _good._

It’s so fucking good to forget. Noct’s hips stutter, as he works into Prompto, fucks into him hard and heavy. It’s little fireworks of pleasure, shooting all through, settling at Prompto’s heavy erection, bouncing between his thighs with every rough thrust. His thighs are trembling, and his whole body’s shaking, and it’s only Noct’s rough grip that’s keeping Prompto from collapsing.

 

The pace is brutal and fast and needy, when Noct’s hips snap forward and he comes without warning, a sudden hot, messy spurt that fills Prompto up, that makes him feel uncomfortably full and sticky and wet, and it’s _so_ fucking hot. It’s a strange combination of things in Prompto’s mind. It’s the collar, the cuffs, the fact that Noct’s got him pressed faceless into the sheets. It’s like being _used,_ like having a fucking tangible purpose, one that isn’t destroying cities and questioning his own existence. Prompto shouldn’t be so goddamn turned on by it, but he is. His cock’s dripping and twitching between his thighs, and he desperately grinds the swell of his ass back against Noct, gasping and moaning desperately.

 

Noctis keeps fucking him, spurting more mess, and suddenly, Prompto’s coming untouched, the pleasure exploding, until he’s a gasping mess, collapsing against the mattress, riding out his release with rocking hips grinding down against the mattress. Noct collapses on top of him, still buried inside – Prompto likes _feeling_ him there, wet and messy, a comforting full feeling – and slowly, quietly, they come down.

 

Prompto’s blissfully out of it for a few moments. It’s the nice hazy afterglow of release, when he’s not worrying about anything, when there’s nothing to focus on but the euphoric rush of sex. His body’s pleasantly heavy, and his cock’s still twitching as he shifts against the mattress. His wrists hurt, but it’s a good, burning feeling, and his lungs can’t quite get air fast enough. Prompto feels lightheaded, floating through the afterglow.

 

“Guess I should untie you, huh?” Noct’s voice cuts through the bliss, and lips pressing hot against his sweat-slicked shoulder pull Prompto out a little bit. Noct withdraws, and the sudden, cold feeling of emptiness is like a heavy loss in the pit of his stomach, one he can’t quite shake.

 

“Can keep me tied up forever, if you want,” Prompto replies, and he tries his best to keep his voice teasing, lighthearted, and not at all like there’s an icy knife sliding in between his ribs and stabbing him right where he’s weak.

 

Noctis laughs in response, and Prompto doesn’t know how he feels. Part of him _wants_ Noctis to have this fucking conversation with him. Part of Prompto wants to hear the reassuring words, even if they don’t change anything. Goddamnit, he’s gotten soft. Noct’s worn off on him, because he shouldn’t be craving reassurance and protection and kind words so much. He should be focusing on the sex, and nothing else should matter. That’s how this relationship – and that word is problematic, too – started, with sex and a mutual goal. Prompto remembers always feeling restless, itching and needy for more, and Noct had been the person to satisfy that strange feeling.

 

Now Noct is just… a constant, and things have been _good,_ but now things are shifting, changing, and Prompto doesn’t understand them.

 

Prompto doesn’t voice any of his fears though, and Noct isn’t offering any words of his own. He’s fiddling with the cuffs, tugging at the latch and getting them off, and Prompto flexes his fingers, sighing at the way they must be red and swollen where the rough edge cut in. He likes the little bits of pain, and Noctis knows that. It’s still nice when Noct’s hands close around his though, strong fingers massaging at his wrists, easing away some of the harsh red lines and working feeling back into him.

 

“Fuck, Prom, I…” Noct says, suddenly, and there’s a swell of emotion rising up in Prompto, but Noct trails off, laughs a little, and settles in warmly behind him. He tugs Prompto up onto his side, pressing his lips into his shoulder, and Prompto simply lets himself be manhandled and positioned, his eyes still closed.

 

“Left you speechless, huh?” Prompto teases, with a quiet laugh of his own, and his voice is sincere enough. He’s a little proud of himself, honestly, because those seeds of doubt are budding again, bursting into little vines that are working through his body, gripping at a heart that shouldn’t even exist, tangling in, cutting through him. He thinks he’s got this under control. The panic isn’t rising yet, at least. The weather is grey, but it’s not stormy. Prompto hopes that Squishy will come snuggle in, soon, because that helps too.

 

“You always leave me speechless,” Noctis agrees. His lips trace along the edge of one of Prompto’s horns, though, and _that_ ruins the whole moment. Prompto hisses, and stiffens, and before he can get control over himself, he’s scooting down, wrenching his head away.

 

“Prom--?” Noctis starts to say, and Prompto shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut. Outside, there’s a crack of lightning, and just like _that,_ instantly, the air is getting thick and tense and a storm begins to brew.

 

“Don’t,” Prompto says, quickly, dipping his head away. He _doesn’t_ want Noctis to touch the horns. He can’t stand it. It used to feel good. In a way, it still _does_ feel good. But it’s a strange, twisted sensation. Something that was pure pleasure before is now a harsh reminder of that stupid purple line that runs along his horns. It makes them even uglier than the already were. Everyone else is _different._ But no – it doesn’t work that way, does it? When it’s everyone else against him, they’re the common ground, and _he’s_ the different one.

 

Noctis doesn’t speak for a moment. Prompto wishes he would say something, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to hear it.

 

“… is this about the color, again?” Noctis asks, quietly, and Prompto _knows,_ objectively, that Noct’s trying here. He knows that Noctis isn’t good at words, at being understanding. But Noct’s going right to the root of the fucking matter, and it’s that knife twisting in again, because Noct just has to remind him how different his colours are, vibrant splashes that make no sense. And the word. _Again._ Like they’ve bene here, done that, and they _have,_ but it makes Prompto feel like he’s an inconvenience, like Noct thinks this is something he should just get over.

 

(Because he should, of course, but it’s not _working_ like that.)

 

Why is Prompto never fucking good enough?

 

“… it’s nothing,” Prompto says, his voice swift and quiet, with a hint of finality. Of course, then he fucks it up because he keeps talking. “… I’m sorry I ruined your horns. They were normal, before me.”

 

Noct’s breath hitches, against Prompto’s shoulder. He’s hesitating. Prompto _hates_ that he hesitates, because Noct must regret this, on some level. Hundreds of years, and Noct’s feeling _regret,_ he’s uncertain about this. Prompto hates it. It makes no sense. Sure, they’ve fought, and Prompto’s struggled with the finer aspects of his powers, but he’s never felt quite so out of place. He’s never felt uncomfortable with himself, not like this.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Noctis finally says. Prompto isn’t convinced, not at all. “Everyone else isn’t exactly the same, you know.”

 

Prompto knows Noct’s trying to make him feel better, but he’s doing a fucking terrible job of it. Everyone else isn’t _exactly_ the same, but they’re goddamn similar.

 

“… you can stop,” Prompto replies. He doesn’t know what else to say. He wrenches away from Noct, putting space between them, and the rain starts falling. Noctis reaches out, puts a hand on his shoulder, and Prompto shudders and draws back. There’s a gust of wind that knocks the window ajar, and it bursts into the room, bringing a cold, damp chill with it, one that feels _good_ against Prompto’s skin.

 

It’s a warning to Noctis. Noct’s always terrified about making things worse.

 

And fuck, under the surface, Prompto knows that Noctis is still _scared_ of him, too. They haven’t gotten past that. That’s something that Prompto has to live with… well, forever.

 

“I’m here, you know,” Noctis says, quietly, but he doesn’t touch him again.

 

Prompto doesn’t know how to feel. He curls up into a ball, and he closes his eyes. Eventually, he hears Squishy wobble into the room – the malboro isn’t good at being stealthy – and he climbs up the side of the bed. Tentacles curl around Prompto’s head, protective, and he feels a _little_ bit better.

 

Eventually, too, Noctis falls asleep. Prompto rolls onto his back, and it wakes Squishy. The malboro hisses sleepily, nudging a tentacle into Prompto’s cheek before picking himself up and scuttling to curl up next to Noctis instead, sapping at the other daemon’s warmth. It’s dark, and the storm is still rolling outside, in full force. The window is open, and the wind howls. There’s rain coming in at a harsh, slanting angle, and it’s getting all over the floor and making the sheets on the bed damp.

 

Prompto sighs, and he drags himself out of bed. He feels damp between his thighs, and it’s a pleasant, burning sort of heat, one that he’s accepting fully. The pain feels good, because his head is throbbing, and he feels so out of place, so confused and lost.

 

“What the fuck is happening?” he mumbles to nobody in particular. He’s glad that Noct’s all curled up on the bed, his dark hair mussed around the damn purple horns that are marred with that awful bright mark, the sign of Prompto’s imperfection. Prompto pauses at the window as he latches it shut, shuddering because at least the cold is a familiar feeling.

 

Prompto wants to go back. He doesn’t know why they’re taking on each other’s colour. He gets the feeling that others know. Maybe Noctis knows, but he hasn’t offered up the answer. Nyx has been giving Prompto a _look._ Luna offers her support, in that quiet, wise, reassuring way she has. Ignis simply looked… _concerned._ Ignis is always concerned, where Prompto is involved, and he hates that Ignis is wary of him. Gladio hadn’t said much of anything. Prompto can’t read any of them.

 

The only incubus he can really read is Noctis, and even now, Prompto isn’t sure. He knows Luna’s different, too, with her powers, but this horn thing? It’s a fucking mountain, one that Prompto doesn’t know how to scale, and it seems like everyone else exists on the other side. He’s all alone to try and cross it, but he doesn’t know _how._

 

As Prompto turns to crawl back into bed, the goddamn mirror catches his eye.

 

He pauses, and he stands in front of it, examining himself.

 

The scars are almost faded across his chest, thank fucking god. The one that runs over his torso is still visible, and a little heavy. The ones on his thighs are almost invisible, thank fucking god. Prompto hates them. He hates that someone went after him—and he hates how _afraid_ Noct had been. Yeah, he’d taken the fuckers down, but he’s not as strong as Nyx is. Nyx wouldn’t have struggled the way he had.

 

More than that, that fucking day makes Prompto think back to the damn horns.

 

He wonders if he can cover them, as he tips his head, eyeing himself in the dim light. Even when it’s dark, the colour stands out. His eyes can cut through the darkness well enough – courtesy of being an incubus, as fucking always – and Prompto stares himself down. He lifts a hand, one that’s shaking for no fucking reason, and traces it over the bumps and ridges of his horns. He sighs, the former pleasure twisting into despair and burning vitriol in his fucking stomach. His tail’s fluttering, agitated, and Prompto can’t quite any sort of inner peace. Nyx had offered lots of advice, and sometimes it really _does_ work, but none of it’s working now.

 

Prompto can’t get his breathing to even out. It’s coming fast and ragged, and the panic is building, and the wind is rattling the window, and _fuck,_ he needs to stop looking.

 

Abruptly, Prompto wrenches his gaze away. He can’t stare at himself any longer. His horns are so fucking ugly, and his eyes are burning, and he even hates the way he looks. Noctis can change how he looks, and Prompto’s been stuck with freckles for hundreds of years that he can’t alter. The more he thinks, the more he realizes how fucking _different_ he is.

 

He controls weather. He affects moods. He can’t alter his appearance as much as Noctis and the others can. Noct can feed in his dreams, if he absolutely has to – Prompto’s dreams are dark and confusing, things that he thinks might be memories, or echoes of memories, of times he doesn’t remember. He’s stuck with this.

 

Prompto tugs a spare blanket off the foot of the bed, and before he can think about what he’s doing, he’s covering the mirror with it. He lifts up onto his toes to tuck the blanket over the corners of the mirror, wedging it in the space between the frame and the wall. When he draws back, after a moment, there’s nothing reflecting back at him, just the heavy fabric hanging and blocking the view.

 

Prompto feels a _little_ better. He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed.

 

Squishy wobbles up off Noct’s chest – the other daemon making an annoyed, grumbling noise and rolling over – and settles down next to Prompto again. Prompto sighs, and he lifts a hand, stroking it over a probing tentacle. The presence is reassuring. Squishy doesn’t care that he’s different. Squishy doesn’t care that Prompto’s a hot fucking mess, that he’s caused another storm, that he can’t even bear to look at himself right now.

 

Squishy just wants to make him feel better.

 

“I swear, you were made for me, Squish,” Prompto mumbles, and for a moment, he thinks that the malboro is looking at him with something resembling intelligence.

 

Prompto crawls back into bed, and he tugs Squishy in with him. The tentacles curled around his chest shouldn’t be as comforting as they are, but it’s a solid warmth of someone who isn’t judging him, who isn’t _scared_ of him, and that’s nice. Prompto doesn’t expect that he’ll fall asleep, but life is a fucking mystery to him. The sheets are messy, and he’s still sweaty and covered in dried sex, but that doesn’t matter. He drifts off, into a mostly uneasy sleep.

 

Prompto dreams of eyes, Noct’s eyes, burning bright and amber, but it doesn’t _feel_ like Noctis. In the morning, he’ll barely remember. In the morning, Noct will eye the mirror, and give Prompto one of those _looks,_ but he won’t address the root of the issue. Prompto will obsess over his horns, and how he just feels different, and it’ll be more of the same. That dream though… it’s unsettling, and it’ll lurk in the back of his mind, because it’s Noct’s eyes, and they aren’t friendly.

 

And Prompto, somehow, he feels _marked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo plot plot plot. it thickens.  
> i'm on twitter @thatdest; numi is@numinoceur ~


	24. Optimism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys struggle and Nyx offers some insight like the good big bro he is~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23!   
> I wanted them to fuck up against a window. I like window sex, k?!   
> Also a bit of mild breath play.  
> This is a happy update. :D I like happy things.

It feels a bit like they’re playing a weird game of cat and mouse, except with words.

 

Noctis sucks at talking. He knows he’s _got_ to try. All the little signs are there that Prompto isn’t okay. Noct doesn’t quite get it, though. He thinks he understands, at least in theory, why Prompto’s upset. The reality of it though… confuses him.

 

So what if Prompto’s horns are different? Noct doesn’t _know_ why it’s such a fucking surprise that Prompto’s a different sort of incubus, after all this time. The weather thing has plagued them since the beginning. Yeah, the storms have gotten _stronger_ lately, but… Noct sighs. He’s leaning against the window, the night air rushing in at him, cool and wet on his face. It’s raining. It’s been raining all week.

 

Noct tries to remember if Prompto’s influence has really always been this way. Maybe he simply forgot? He frowns, and chews on his bottom lip, tearing and pulling the abused flesh with his teeth; it’s such a bad mortal habit. They’d met because Prompto’s moods were wild and sour enough to cause mass panic and depression in the city, so that part isn’t new. The storms _have_ gotten worse though, and… the near death stuff, _that_ is pretty new, too.

 

Noctis isn’t the smartest of daemons, but he’s starting to think this is all interconnected.

 

The rain feels good on his face, at least. Prompto’s mood has been a steady dreariness. Every time Noctis _thinks_ he’s finally figured out something to say, every time he tries to broach the topic, the wind will pick up and start howling again and Prompto ducks away, and Noctis loses his nerves. So they’ve been walking on eggshells all week. Noct knows Prompto’s upset. He hates that the other incubus feels this way, and Noct feels… well, powerless to stop it.

 

His forearms dangle loosely out the open window, and Noct’s skin is slick with rain. His cheeks are shining with it, too. He tips his head to the side, and Noct’s glad the window is open, because there’s no reflection staring back at him in the glass. It seems… too difficult to face the reality of it right now.

 

Noctis doesn’t mind the change in colour. The new, bright stripe in his horn doesn’t bother him. Nyx had offered up some good-natured, brotherly teasing, and it had upset Prompto far more than it upset Noct. Noctis… isn’t sure why it’s happened, but Nyx had simply shrugged and said it’s not _totally_ unheard of, just far more obvious in their case.

 

He’ll talk to Prompto though, Noctis tells himself firmly. He’s going to fix this. The rain is cold, dreary and ever-present on his face, but he doesn’t mind it, for the moment.

 

\---

 

Of course, saying that he’s going to talk, and then actually doing it… they’re two different things.

 

Prompto’s been doing his best to act normal. The smile plastered across his face is _almost_ believable, too, if Noct wasn’t so hyperaware of the way his lips quirk nervously. Noctis isn’t dumb. He… isn’t _smart,_ no, but he’s not stupid enough to think that everything is perfectly okay. He’s just smack in the middle, at the point where he knows things are wrong, that they’re somewhat broken, but he can’t quite work out how to fix it.

 

It’s still raining, and they’ve got an umbrella open between them. It’d been Noct’s idea, for once, to go out on a date, and Prompto had been happy enough to let himself get dragged along. Hell, it might even be a good idea; it’s seemed to temporarily jostle Prompto out of his depression. He’d been lying on the couch, listless and unresponsive, with Squishy curled at his side. Noct had suggested they go out solely in hopes of getting Prompto _off_ the couch and talking to him.

 

It worked, at least. Prompto’s _almost_ acting normal. Well, except for the hoodie that’s drawn up over his head, masking his horns from view. They can glamor them away, but they’re still always _there,_ and Noctis frowns as they walk. He’s not sure how to bring up the subject. Fuck, he’s never sure. Their shoulders brush, and their fingers are tangled, and that’s a _start,_ but it still feels like there’s miles of distance between them, in some way that Noct doesn’t know how to overcome.

 

It’s a disgustingly domestic day, not even with the pretense of hunting. Neither of them are particularly hungry—well, Noct’s not at least. He can’t speak for Prompto, because he gets the feeling that Prom’s not eating well again, his mood fluctuating so horribly. His horns peek out, and they don’t look as vibrant as usual, and Noctis is pretty sure that’s intentional, too.

 

Hell, Prompto isn’t even eating his mortal food. They go into a cute little café, and rain creates a cozy environment inside. They’re tucked away at a little table next to the window, and the rain patters down against the glass. Noctis carries their drinks over, and a couple of plates of pastries, but Prompto barely looks up. His hood’s still drawn, his eyes downcast, and he’s fidgeting restless in the chair, even as he offers Noct a tiny smile.

 

“Everything okay?” Noctis asks, quietly, as he settles in, sipping at his drink. Prompto’s latte goes ignored. Hell, Prompto sits and crumbles his pastry with his fingers, pushing the crumbs around his plate and ignoring the world, and doesn’t offer a response for a long moment.

 

“Everything’s fine,” Prompto says, finally after a silence. It’s the most unconvincing response Noctis has ever heard, and he frowns, and bites at his lip. Noct has _no_ idea how to get through to Prompto here, and it’s frustrating. He tips his head to the side, glancing at his reflection in the glass. There’s little raindrops rolling down the windowpane, creating patterns in the rivulets of water. They’re hiding their horns, but Noct knows they’re there – he can still half see them – and by now? Noct has gotten used to the pink. He likes it.

 

“Prom,” Noctis sighs. His fingers drum at the curved side of his coffee cup. He lifts it to his mouth and takes a sip of the sweet drink. There’s a thousand things Noctis wants to say. He wants to point out that they’re hundreds of years in, that he _loves_ Prompto, that no matter what, he’s by his side. They’ve lived through near deaths and natural disasters and so many things that should’ve broken them up.

 

Prompto might be different, after all, but so is Noctis. Noct’s saying fuck it to instinct and _staying,_ even though this might be the death of him.

 

“… I wanna help, you know,” Noct offers. He has no idea how to help.

 

“You can’t,” Prompto responds instantly, dismissive. He hasn’t even touched his drink, but suddenly he goes for it, gulping down a long sip of it, even though it’s still piping hot. “Noct, nobody can help. I’m not _like_ you. I’m different.”

 

Noctis sighs. Prompto _is_ different. It’s not a bad thing, though. It’s part of why he loves him so much.

 

“Who cares if you’re different?” Noct asks, and he knows it’s the wrong thing to say, because Prompto, immediately, goes stony-faced and looks away. The wind rattles against the window, making the whole fucking building shake with the sudden force of the gust.

 

“I care.” Prompto says, quietly.

 

“Prom—” Noctis tries to say, but Prompto bites down on his lip and the wind picks up even _more_ and Noctis doesn’t wanna trigger a fucking tornado, so he goes silent again.

 

“Sorry,” Noct offers up, after a silence. He hates this. He’s fucked up, _again,_ and he has no idea how to tell Prompto how much he _doesn’t_ care about the horns. He doesn’t understand it, though. It’s not like this is a _new_ development, apart from the colour sharing thing, but…

 

“It’s fine,” Prompto says. “I just don’t want to talk about it, Noctis, okay?”

 

“Okay.” That’s all Noctis can do. Agree, and nod, and move on, and pretend that their lives aren’t crumbling away before them, again.

 

\---

 

Noct’s grateful, yet again, for Squishy. He doesn’t know what he’d do without the damn malboro. As bad as he is at pretty much _everything,_ he’d done something right in obtaining the little guy. Squishy’s done an amazing job at keeping Prompto’s mood… well, not perfect, but it’s been a steady, dreary drizzle, and that’s better than it has been.

 

Hell, it gets Prompto out of the house, too. Noct’s sitting on the couch, waiting, when Prompto comes back in. He’s wearing a hat, of course, and Noctis wants to point out that Prompto doesn’t need it, that he should take the damn thing off. He doesn’t say that, though. A lot of things lately are just… well, too fucking hard to say.

 

“Look,” Prompto says, with a quiet laugh, as Squishy waddles in behind him, flopping along on his little tentacles. Prompto’s carrying a shopping bag, too. “I stopped at the pet store and we got some new stuff for Squish.”

 

The sound of Prompto’s laughter is so fucking relieving, such a rush of warmth, that Noct can’t bring himself to point out that they already have the world’s most spoiled malboro. Squish seems happy that Prompto’s in a better mood, and he’s always a _little_ less evil and disruptive after a walk anyway.

 

“Let’s see,” Noctis says, patting the couch next to him. Prompto shrugs out of his jacket and leaves it hanging off the edge of the couch. He unhooks Squish from his harness, too, and the malboro ambles off to check his food dish in hopes of snacks magically appearing.

 

Prompto offers Noct a shy smile when he settles down on the couch. His gaze doesn’t quite extend to Noct’s horns, but that’s okay. They’re talking about _something,_ even if it’s not the things they should be.

 

Prompto pulls out a giant, floppy new bow. “Look, he’s gonna look so handsome,” he says, fondly.

 

Noct’s not so sure about that. He hears the sound of a dish being pushed around the kitchen floor as a hopeful Squishy pushes it around in hopes of finding food in there somewhere. There’s a following _hiss_ as the malboro realizes nope, Noct hasn’t fed him, and then the malboro waddles back in to climb the couch.

 

“So handsome,” Noctis mimics back, as Prompto proudly fastens the bow to the front of one tentacle. Squish seems to tolerate it, though Noct knows that if _he_ was the one to attach it, he’d be getting bitchslapped in the face by tentacles.

 

Prompto smiles. He goes through a few chew toys, a bag of expensive looking treats – “they’re for dogs, but the ingredient list seemed okay” – and a big floppy bed that’s kinda pointless, because Squishy sleeps with them anyway. It’s… the happiest Noct’s seen him in ages, though.

 

“We officially have the world’s most spoiled malboro,” Noct teases. Prompto flushes, but he doesn’t look entirely unpleased, even as he playfully swats at Noct’s arm.

 

“Sure do,” Prompto agrees. Squishy’s sprawled out on his lap and purring, and Noct carefully, slowly, curls an arm around Prompto’s waist. For a minute, a long, happy moment, Noct thinks that this is _okay._ But then Prompto tenses, and he shrugs away, scooting to the edge of the couch.

 

“… sorry, Noct,” Prompto says, quietly, “I just… I don’t wanna be touched.”

 

Noctis sighs, and the moment’s broken, as it always is, these days.

 

\---

 

Things get worse, because they always fucking do.

 

Prompto’s been hot and cold for the past several days. Well, he’s been hot and cold for the past several _weeks,_ but it’s been so much fucking worse. He goes from refusing to let Noctis touch him, withdrawing entirely, to being the neediest creature in the fucking universe. There’s no middle ground.

 

Usually, when Prompto gets into these moods, he goes wild. Sometimes people die, and Noct looks the other way, because Prompto just goes _overboard._ It happens. It’s not really his fault. It’s part of what Noct’s learned to live with.

 

This is different though, and he’s not sure how to deal with it. Suddenly, Prompto’s not hunting, he’s only eating when he comes crawling to Noct for sex—and Noct’s increasingly aware that Prompto’s dipping into subspace, that he’s letting himself get lost into the sex for the sheer purpose of _escape._ It’s unhealthy. Fuck, maybe it _isn’t_ unhealthy, they’re sex daemons, but it can’t be doing any good for the situation.

 

So Noctis fucks it up. He always does.

 

Prompto’s horns are dull, and it’s the first view Noct’s really gotten of them in days. He’s taken to wearing those hats and sweaters with the hoods drawn all the time. Prompto’s face is buried in a pillow – he likes it that way – and Noct’s grip around his throat is rough as he fucks into him hard from behind. Prompto’s sprawled against the mattress, rutting into it, and Noct’s settled heavily on top of him. He’s biting and nipping and he _wants_ to be loving and tender, in a way that’s unacceptable. But Prompto wants to be pushed further. Noct can tell. He wants to be in this place, where it’s all rough and harsh.

 

Noct’s never one to deny Prompto. _Never._

He rocks his hips in harder, burying himself deeper, until Prompto can’t fucking move, until all he can do is gasp and pull at the sheets so hard there’s a tearing sound and they rip underneath his fingers. His hand’s curled so tight around Prompto’s throat that he can’t breathe, and they don’t _need_ to breathe, but they’re so used to doing it that the panic is all welling up and making Prompto’s head spin. Noct knows it’s what he wants.

 

He’s more focused on Prompto here, hyperfocused on the way Prompto’s gasping, the way the words aren’t coming out with the tight grip around his throat. He can feel Prompto tensing around him, all tight heat as Noct drives inside again. He’s buried to the hilt, splitting Prompto open, and the bed’s hitting the wall with every rough surge forward. Prompto’s skin is salty-wet with sweat and his hair’s a mess, and the horns are damn near glowing in the faint light, coming alive with vibrant colour. Noct loves the fucking colour, even if Prompto _hates_ it, and he doesn’t say that, but he tightens his grip around Prompto’s throat, constricting and rough and brutal.

 

Prompto doesn’t have the air in his lungs to cry out, but he’s tight around Noct when he comes, spilling himself on the sheets. Noctis shudders, and he fucks Prompto through it. He releases his grip on Prompto’s throat only to grab his hips and keep him pinned, helpless and exhausted and collapsed, until Noct buries himself inside and comes too, messy and wet, buried all the way to the hilt.

 

Noct’s lips trace idle patterns over Prompto’s back as they come down. Prompto’s been starving himself again, and the pull is exhausting. Noct’s got enough energy for both of them, but he’s warm and sleepy and happy. Prompto doesn’t seem to mind the affection, either, which is nice, since they’ve been struggling so fucking much lately.

 

“I love you,” Noct mumbles, and he hasn’t said those words in far too fucking long, either.

 

Prompto’s breath hitches a little, and he manages back a shaky, “love you too, idiot,” his voice all cracked and wrecked from being choked. It pulls Noctis in a couple of directions, because he feels _guilty_ but Prompto had wanted it this way, and they’re just sweeping the problem under the rug, but it’s so fucking hard to talk about. It’s impossible, because Prompto shuts it down.

 

Noct’s not thinking, though, in the ways that he should be. He always ruins things, because his lips are drifting up, kissing the back of Prompto’s neck, his cheek nuzzling into his hair. Prompto stiffens a little with the touch, and when Noct’s lips trace over the curve of one horn, abruptly, Prompto’s tensing and his breath catches and he’s roughly scrambling out from under Noctis, shoving him away.

 

“Don’t touch,” Prompto says, and his voice is still in that harsh, rough tone, but now there’s emotion there, and it’s not good emotion. “Noct. Fuck. You _know_ not to do that.”

 

“I’m sorry—” Noctis tries to say, but the afterglow is ruined. Prompto doesn’t say anything else, but he climbs out of bed and shuffles into the bathroom. Noctis hears the shower running, and he should get up. He should climb into the shower and get his arms around Prompto from behind and kiss his neck and _avoid the damn horns,_ and he should apologize—

 

Noctis closes his eyes, instead, and sighs, and he doesn’t know how to fix this. It always comes back to Noctis not knowing how to fix their problems, and he hates it. Prompto doesn’t come back to bed that night, and Noct doesn’t blame him.

 

\---

 

Just like they always find themselves in this loop, Nyx shows up, one day, like fucking clockwork.

 

Prompto’s not home. He’s out walking Squishy. The malboro, at least, is getting the sweet deal out of this. Prompto’s started taking long walks with him, hood drawn up over his horns, and Noctis knows it’s not a good thing that Prompto’s withdrawing so much. But—it’s helping him cope, right? He hasn’t conjured a fucking hurricane to destroy the entire goddamn city yet. He hasn’t killed anyone. This… could be worse. It could be so much worse.

 

Nyx has the courtesy to knock, at least. Noctis drags his ass off the couch, and opens the door, and it’s no surprise. Who else would visit, anyway? Ignis and Gladio always text before they show up, and he’s been texting on and off with Luna all day, venting to her. It makes sense that she’d send her boyfriend over. Or, hell, maybe he’s come entirely on his own.

 

“I hate rain,” Nyx says, when Noctis holds the door open for him. “Can’t you get him to switch it up some? Maybe a few hot days, instead of _rain?”_

 

Noctis manages a tired laugh at that. “Fuck, Nyx. Don’t _say_ that. Guess you and Luna weren’t around that time Prompto got mad in the middle of July. People were baking cookies in their cars. It was like one-twenty out.”

 

Nyx shudders. “Still better than _rain_ though. I hate the cold.”

 

“Could be worse,” Noctis shrugs, closing the door behind the other incubus as he steps inside.

 

“Good point. Still not thawed out from that last snow storm,” Nyx agrees. “Can I sit?”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis is already halfway to the couch, and he’s well aware that Nyx is here to make him talk. Noctis isn’t entirely opposed to that. He probably _needs_ to talk this over. “You’re here about Prom, aren’t you?”

 

Nyx makes himself comfortable as he settles down at the end of the couch, one leg propped up on the coffee table. “I’m always here about Prompto, aren’t I?”

 

“Pretty much,” Noctis rolls his eyes. He should probably correct that statement. Nyx is usually always here _alone_ about Prompto. He tags along with Luna whenever she visits, of course. They’ve somehow grown closer, the four of them, and Noctis appreciates that. Someday, maybe Prompto and Ignis will get along, too, and they really _can_ properly all be… what? Some weird family? Who knows.

 

“Guess I should just show up to shoot the shit more often,” Nyx laughs. It makes Noctis smile, even though he’s stressed to all hell about Prompto. Sometimes, it helps, just having another perspective, another person to talk to.

 

“Would make it less ominous,” Noctis agrees. “… I dunno, Nyx. I’ve tried to cheer him up, it’s not working.”

 

The other incubus watches him, head tipped to the side, eyes narrowed. Noct would _love_ to know what goes through Nyx’s head, sometimes. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s more traditional, yeah, but he’s got some of the traits and qualities that Noct really admires. He knows how to love someone other than himself, and he makes Luna happy. Somehow, too, Noctis and Prompto have earned Nyx’s loyalty, and he _trusts_ him, damnit.

 

“Your idea of trying and _effective_ ways of trying are usually at odds,” Nyx points out, with a smile that is… maybe a little condescending, but in a wise, brotherly kind of way, nothing cruel. “He’s upset about the imprint, isn’t he?”

 

Noctis blinks “… the what?”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Nyx groans, “c’mon, Noctis, did _nobody_ have this talk with you? How do you not know _any_ of this?!”

 

Noct blinks and tips his head again. He doesn’t reply right away, because he _knows,_ in theory, what Nyx is talking about. His dad had told him things, here and there, but the reality of it is that he hadn’t quite put it all together. Of course, it explains a lot.

 

“When two incubi love each other very, very much,” Nyx starts, with a sarcastic bite to his words, and a roll of his eyes.

 

“I _know_ what you’re talking about there—” Noctis says, quickly, his cheeks flushing just a little. For someone who’s made solely for the purpose of sex, the actual talk of _love_ and _feelings_ and finding companionship is one hell of an embarrassing talk, and not one that Noct really wants to have. He’s heard the stories, and he also knows that it doesn’t usually happen, even to those rare few that do actually choose companionship instead of a solitary life preying on mortal souls.

 

Nyx laughs at Noct’s flustered reaction, damn him. “So, why’s it a surprise? The colours on your horns are a dead giveaway. Most times it’s _really_ subtle, you can’t tell right away, but those colours stand out _really_ well, his horns are something else, huh?”

 

Noctis sighs. “The horns are the problem. He’s upset that he’s _different.”_

 

“Well he _is_ different,” Nyx shrugs. “I’ve been wondering about the horns ever since I met him. He never seemed to care before, did he?”

 

Noctis thinks that over, turning it in his mind. Prompto hadn’t cared about the horns before, no. They’ve had their ups and downs, and Prompto’s been upset about his powers, about his uncanny ability to fuck with the weather, to turn everyone’s moods insane. Prompto overindulges, he’s killed people, he’d almost killed _Noctis._ It’s never been such a strange, superficial fear before, though.

 

“… he never cared about the horns before, no,” Noctis sighs, “not until we… imprinted.” The word is weird, to think about. It’s strange coming out of Noct’s mouth. It explains a lot though.

 

It explains the colours, first and foremost. It explains that weird connection they’ve forged, the ability to _sense_ each other. It explains why when Prompto was in pain, Noctis could feel it, too. He definitely remembers having this conversation with his adopted father, _years_ ago, fucking centuries ago, before Prompto. He’d been quick to roll his eyes and point out to his father that all he wanted to do was sleep and eat and avoid all contact with other incubi as much as possible. His father had sighed and said something along the lines of ‘my idiot son’ and told Noct it was _important,_ that he should make sure he doesn’t imprint by mistake with someone.

 

Well, fuck.

 

Not that binding himself to Prompto is a _bad_ thing, of course.

 

“Surprised it took you two this long to imprint,” Nyx laughs, shaking his head. “… you guys should talk about it, though. Prompto doesn’t… _know_ a lot about our kind, does he?”

 

That’s another interesting thought. Talking with Nyx is always an experience in itself. The other incubus always has… well, a unique outlook. Maybe it’s just because he’s got more street sense than Noctis will ever have. Being with Luna offers a different perspective, too, and that probably helps. And, okay, it seems kinda… glaringly obvious, now that Noctis thinks about it.

 

They still don’t even _know_ where Prompto came from. Most incubi have someone hold their hands through the first years. They’re weakened and unable to fully harness their powers, usually. Noctis had his dad and Ignis to lean on, when he was younger. Prompto—he has no memories of his earlier days, but he’d been a loose cannon when they’d met, intense and too fucking powerful for his own good.

 

Chances are, Prompto has no idea what’s happening. They haven’t really _talked_ about it, after all.

 

“… fuck,” Noct says, aloud, as the realization dawns on him. “He has no idea.”

 

Nyx sighs. “You know, this is _basic_ stuff, right? Do you ever actually think? Half of your problems, Noct, are seriously just total miscommunication. Blows my mind how you’ve managed to survive this long without Prom’s powers bringing on the apocalypse or something.”

 

“I dunno if he’s _that_ strong,” Noctis tries to point out, but he gets a bit lost in the point. He doesn’t _want_ to know. And… Nyx is right. Fuck, he’s always right, the smug asshole that he is. Of course, Nyx lives with Luna, and her unique powers, so he’s got the right idea. “You really think this horn thing is all because he doesn’t know why we’ve changed colours?”

 

“Well, he probably also feels like an outcast,” Nyx shrugs, “kinda understand that. He sticks out, Noct. I… don’t know what his deal is. It’s not my business to know. Something’s different about him, though. Doesn’t mean it’s a _bad_ difference, don’t give me that look—” Noct, of course, had immediately started to go on the defensive, and he’s glaring Nyx down, even as he says the words. “—I’ts just how it is, Noctis. You gotta let him know that it’s a _good_ thing. Don’t try to downplay the fact that he isn’t like us. Just… focus on the good side.”

 

Noct’s gaze softens. It’s good advice. It… is really good advice.

 

“I never thought of it that way,” Noctis admits.

 

“Obviously,” Nyx agrees, “because this rain has been going on for three fucking weeks and I’m sick of it. I hate hunting in the rain, Noct, this storm carries three towns over.”

 

\---

 

Noctis worries himself into a rut while Prompto’s gone. It’s only been a little while since Nyx left – with the threat to return if the rain gets worse – and he’s pretty sure he’s paced a path in the living room floor. Talking is hard. Why is talking so fucking hard?

 

Eventually, the door creaks open, and Prompto shuffles inside. Squishy’s got a nice new harness to match the silly floppy bow he’s got attached to his front, and the malboro is waddling lazily, looking fully exhausted for once. Prompto’s hood is drawn up tight over his head, and he looks tired, too.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says, as Prompto nudges the door shut behind him and kneels down to get the leash off Squishy. It’s a routine. The malboro will do his food rounds – Noct snuck a few treats in his bowl, because he’s got a soft spot for the damn little guy too – and they’ll walk on eggshells around each other. This time, though, Noct’s gonna _talk._

 

“Hey,” Prompto says, quietly, his eyes downcast. His sweater’s wet, the fabric clinging to his shoulders and the small of his back, but he’s making no effort to take it off.

 

“We need to talk,” Noctis says, and he struggles more with the words than he’d hoped. This is _not_ easy. He’d gone over a stupid speech in his head, over and over again, but now the words are escaping, and he has no idea what to say. He almost wishes Nyx was here to help, but this isn’t Nyx’s problem – it’s between Noctis and Prompto, and after damn centuries, they _should_ really be better at this by now.

 

“I don’t want to talk,” Prompto says, instantly, and Noct can hear the defensiveness rising in his voice, and the way his posture goes all rigid, tension springing to life.

 

“I don’t want to either,” Noct replies, quickly, before he can let Prompto get away. He reaches out, and curls his fingers around Prompto’s wet ones. Prompto’s eyes widen, and he looks like he’s going to pull free and bolt, but instead, he sighs. His shoulders slump, and Prompto lets Noctis tug him over to the couch.

 

They settle down, pressed close, and for once, Prompto isn’t fighting. He lets Noct curl an arm around his waist, and he leans in a little. Prompto’s cold and shivering, and Noctis can feel it, pressed up against the warmth of his side. Noct’s fingers itch to get Prompto’s hood down, to press kisses everywhere, but he knows better than to push it.

 

“… we have to talk,” Noctis says, quietly, “and you don’t have to say anything. You can just listen.”

 

“I _really_ don’t think we have to,” Prompto tries to insist, but it’s half-hearted. Noctis hears the wind pick up outside, and the urge to _drop it_ is strong, but fuck, this rain has been going on long enough. Maybe they just need one hell of a storm to break the pattern, and then things will clear up.

 

“You’ve been weird since we imprinted,” Noctis says, and he cuts right to it. Prompto’s eyes go a little wide, but there’s mostly confusion written all over his face, “… it means we’re like. Linked. Bound to each other. It’s dumb. It’s stupid. It doesn’t really _happen,_ but…” Noctis sighs, “but we’re _both_ different, Prom. Not just you. Me too, cuz this happened.”

 

For once, Prompto doesn’t have some great interruption to offer. He looks a little bit like a deer in the headlight, honestly. His eyes go all wide, swirling with colour, and for a moment, the rain seems to settle down.

 

“… we’re linked?” Prompto asks, quietly, like this is a great, new concept to him. Fuck, it probably _is_ a new concept.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis says, “Luna and Nyx are, too. Or… well, I’m assuming they are. It’s not something that’s… talked about.” He doesn’t point out, either, that usually, it’s hard to tell when two incubi are bound, because the horn colours are similar enough that it’s hard to tell. Noctis gets the distinct feeling that’s the _wrong_ thing to say. “… most don’t, though. It’s… rare. It’s a good thing, though.”

 

Noctis doesn’t know for sure if it’s a good thing, either. A lot of the talk is quiet. A lot of incubi see it as weakness, because it creates a bond that’s only broken by death. It… can be a burden, a weight, because it means they’ll never be satisfied without each other. In Noct’s mind though? He doesn’t even _consider_ any of that. This is a good thing, he _loves_ Prompto, he doesn’t care about the differences.

 

“A good thing,” Prompto echoes back. He doesn’t sound fully convinced. He sounds… well, like he’s a bit hollow inside, his voice full of this strange, empty wonder, like he can’t quite process any of it.

 

“A good thing,” Noctis agrees, “Prom, I don’t _care_ if you’re different. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the weird incubus who doesn’t kill humans. I eat ice cream and pizza and I _really_ like those stupid dramas they make on TV. Ignis and Gladio both think I’m insane.”

 

Prompto doesn’t speak for a long time. He’s still got that strange look on his face. He leans in, just for a moment, and Noct’s arm tightens around him, fingers digging into his hip through his wet sweater. Abruptly, though, Prompto pulls away. He untangles himself from Noct, and he sighs, shaky, and the moment’s broken.

 

“I _don’t_ want to talk about this, Noct. It… it’s too much. I don’t _want_ you to look different, I already do, I don’t wanna drag you into this—”

 

Prompto stands up, and he starts to retreat, but Noctis isn’t about to let it happen. He’s sick of this back-and-forth, this weird avoiding each other. They aren’t getting _anywhere._

 

“No,” Noct says, standing up, moving after Prompto. Prompto is faster, but Noctis has had enough. He reaches for Prompto’s wrist, grabs, and pulls him forward, turning them, spinning around and getting Prompto’s back pressed up against the window behind them. Prompto hisses, sharp, and the sky suddenly burns _bright_ with a streak of lightning, and a crash of ensuring thunder. Noctis ignores it though. He’s sick of this fucking game.

 

“Listen to me,” Noct says. He presses his weight into Prompto’s front, keeps him pinned, as his hands tug Prompto’s hood down. His horns are bright, and Noct takes a moment to simply _admire._ He loves them, vivid splashes of strange colour, and they’re _different,_ but they’re Prompto, fuck.

 

“I don’t care that you _look_ different. Different isn’t bad, Prom. Different is the reason I love you,” and Noctis knows it’s so fucking cheesy. It’s basically a line from one of the bad dramas he enjoys so much, but Prompto goes still, trapped between his body and the wall. His breathing catches, and then it seems to even out some, and so Noctis takes it as a sign to continue.

 

“I like it,” Noct raises his voice a little, the words carrying, and he fixes Prompto with a fierce, determined gaze, as if he’s fucking daring him to challenge it. Prompto’s eyes are unreadable for once, swirling with so many different emotions. “The whole world can know that we’re bound to each other, Prom. It’s not some secret. _Everyone_ can know that I’m dedicated to you.”

 

Prompto still doesn’t speak. The silence ticks between them, and he wonders if he’s fucked up. Not like it _really_ matters, but if this doesn’t make things better, Noct doesn’t know what will.

 

_“Noct,”_ Prompto finally says, in a quiet, shaky voice, “fuck, Noctis, I’m sorry—” and then he’s leaning in, closing his lips wet and hot and heavy over Noct’s, kissing him with a frenzied passion that’s almost unfamiliar, it’s been so long since they’ve been like this. Noctis kisses back, deepening the kiss with a swipe of tongue, and Prompto moans against his lips, encouraging it.

 

The kiss breaks, and Noct’s lips work over Prompto’s jaw, nipping and biting, no tease to it, all simple, pure need. Their sex has been rough, almost violent lately, and Noctis has missed the simple _touching._ His hands are already working up under Prompto’s wet sweater, tracing over skin that’s cold and clammy, warming it under his touch.

 

“Don’t apologize,” Noct’s words are almost an afterthought, because he can’t get enough of the taste of Prompto’s skin. He only draws back long enough to get Prompto’s shirt tugged up over his head- the fabric catching on his horns, and they _both_ fucking laugh about it, and it’s so goddam nice – and tossed aside. Noct’s shirt comes next, and Prompto’s hands are busy through it all, tugging at Noct’s pants and getting them down his hips enough to expose his cock. Noct laughs again, goes back in for another kiss, now that they’re pressed flush, skin-to-skin, and they both sigh as he reaches between them to wiggle Prompto’s pants off too, until they’re naked, their half-hard erections sliding and bumping against each other.

 

“I should apologize,” Prompto sighs out, as Noct’s lips trace over his collarbone, chasing away the cold there, too. One arm is curled around Noct’s neck, and the other is shifting through his hair, stroking, tentatively closing around the base of one horn. The touch makes Noct groan. Prompto’s been avoiding touching him there, too, avoiding so much as _looking_ at his horns, because of that new line of colour.

 

“I should apologize too, then,” Noct’s words are hot puffs against Prompto’s skin. His hand drifts down, settling on a pierced hip, and Prompto responds by lifting a leg to curl up around Noct’s waist. They’re both overwhelmed. The glass is cool against the hand that Noct braces on it, and it must feel good against Prompto’s back, pressed up all close, though it’s starting to fog up, warmed by the press of a hot body. They’re touch starved, too, because the sex before was a _necessity,_ not something that’s all passion and so much love, and now it’s everything.

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you’ve been telling me—” Prompto tries to insist, but he’s gasping out, when Noct grips his other hip and tugs his legs fully up around his waist. He presses there, keeps Prompto pinned up against the window, and their foreheads press together when Noctis lifts his head away from the other daemon’s skin. He wants to look into Prompto’s eyes, and that thought is suddenly overwhelming, it’s _everything._

 

“I love you, I should’ve _told you,”_ Noct mumbles, a bit lost in everything. Prompto’s eyes swirl with emotion, with _colour,_ the ones he loves so goddamn much, and when Noct’s hips snap forward, when he knows just how to position himself and push in, they both gasp and sigh. Prompto’s erection is trapped between their bellies, and it throbs, fully hard, and Noct knows, for once, they’re not chasing pain here.

 

“ ‘s both our faults then,” Prompto agrees, breathless, as he tips his head back against the smooth glass. Noctis can agree to that, and he nuzzles into Prompto’s neck, settling into that warm, happy place there, as he begins to move, to rock his hips forward, slow and lazy thrusts that go deep.

 

Prompto’s legs hook tight around Noct’s waist, his heels digging into the small of his back as he tries to lift into the thrusts working into him. It splits him open, works deep, and Noctis seats himself fully with every deep rock of his hips. The pace isn’t fast, it’s slow and steady, and it’s a delicious fire that burns slowly, but intense, spreading all through them both. It’s working little waves of pleasure all through Noct’s body, centered in his belly, spreading to the tips of his limbs and making his heart beat faster. He’s so goddamn in love with Prompto, and Noct can’t get enough.

 

Prompto’s making the most amazing, delicious sounds. They’ve been having such rough, intense sex, and Prompto’s fucking touch starved. He’s _needed_ this, Noctis knows, and there’s a steady flush spreading across Prompto’s chest, across his freckled shoulders. His cheeks are pink and his lips are half-open as he pants and gasps whenever Noct’s cock bumps into his prostate. His erection’s leaking between them, and Noct considers working a hand between their bodies to jerk him off, but he doesn’t think he _needs_ to.

 

“Noct, I—” Prompto whines, when Noct’s hips grind in against that spot inside. Prompto’s whole body goes tense, and it’s a warning that he’s on the edge, that he isn’t going to last longer. Noctis doesn’t stop the pace, but he lifts his head, presses a hot, wet kiss into Prompto’s lips, and his hand shifts, from where it’s gripping Prompto’s hip. The shift pushes Prompto harder against the window, puts more tight friction against his cock. That’s not what pulls them both over the edge though.

 

Noct’s hand lifts to one of Prompto’s horns, and he strokes it, slow and reverent, tracing the heavy line of purple that runs base-to-tip. Prompto’s _always_ been sensitive there, they both know it, but now? Well, it’s a bit of a gamble touching in the first place, and Noctis half-expects to ruin the moment, still. Instead, Prompto tosses his head back, gasps as his horns crack the fucking window pane. The pleasure’s exploding though, and he cries out Noct’s name, his cock twitching and spurting wet release between them.

 

It's enough to pull Noctis there, too. Seeing Prompto so desperate and needy, so fucking touched starved, it lights a fire in Noctis. It’s an explosion of pleasure, and his hips are jerking forward in frantic, needy little thrusts. Prompto grips him so perfectly, pulls him deep, and Noct’s motions catch and stutter as he comes too, filling Prompto up, his lips chasing freckles on Prompto’s cheeks, his fingers tracing over the smooth ridges of his horn.

 

“Noct…” Prompto whimpers, as they come down, and he’s not making any effort to jerk away from the touch. He’s oversensitive, trembling, but allowing it, and Noctis _loves_ Prompto, damnit. He loves him so much, and he wants to trace his lips over each horn in turn, to let his tongue feel the smooth ridges, to memorize the spirals, with that new colourful mark.

 

But, as Noctis lifts his head away, as his fingers slowly shift downward, to tangle in Prompto’s hair instead, he realizes, with a start, that Prompto’s horns are _glowing._ And, his own dim reflection peering back at him in the now-cracked glass, Noct realizes his own are, too.

 

It’s always something new with them.

 

“We gotta get better at talking,” Noct says, with a laugh, as he curls his arms tight around Prompto’s waist, hoisting him up better, and shuffling toward the bedroom, Prompto still hooked around his waist.

 

“Mhmmm,” Prompto agrees, with an exhausted laugh. They _both_ need to sleep this off.

 

\---

 

When Noctis wakes up, the bed is empty, and he’s in _pain_ again. Fuck, he’s not supposed to be in pain.

 

His thoughts immediately fly to Prompto. It’s the same fucking horrible pain as before.

 

Noct’s head feels like it’s going to explode. It feels like his skull’s going to shatter into a million fucking pieces, and if he has a brain – he’s not really sure of incubus biology specifics – then it might very well have turned into a bomb, ticking away, threatening to explode into oblivion at any moment.

 

The rain is coming down outside again, fucking intense and horrible, and he’s _alone—_

 

Prompto wouldn’t have run away. That’s the first fucking thought on Noct’s mind, as he fumbles for his goddamn phone. It’s out in the living room, he remembers _that_ much, and he can’t even get out of bed without tripping over his own damn feet and nearly falling over. It _hurts._ His body isn’t cooperating, everything feels stiff and heavy and terrible, and the panic is building.

 

This is _wrong._

Somehow, it’s worse than it was before. It’s worse than last time, and Noct lurches, almost falling face-first into the wall. He braces himself, stumbling as he makes his way out to the living room. His phone is vibrating on the couch cushion – it’s Nyx – and Noct ignores that because there’s a text from Prompto.

 

_‘getting us treats – make up date night?? Love you!’_

Fuck. Fuck, Noct’s thoughts are going back to that time Prompto had been attacked, and this can’t be happening again, and it can’t get worse—

 

And immediately after Noctis tells himself it can’t get worse, it _does._

Because the pain stops. Abruptly, just as quickly as it had started, it’s _gone._ And worse than that, it’s replaced with a feeling of emptiness. That strange part of his heart that was in-tuned with Prompto, it goes dead silent. Dead fucking silent, and just like that, there’s a harsh wave of dread that washes over Noctis so heavy that he feels the bile rise up in his throat. His stomach lurches, and he collapses back against the couch, and this is _so wrong._ They’ve imprinted, there’s no fucking denying that, his horns give it away bright and vivid, and Prompto’s always a warm presence, always _there,_ even when they’re struggling.

 

Outside, the rain _stops,_ abruptly, and Noctis feels the world stop with it.

 

Prompto’s _dead,_ he has to be, there’s no other explanation—

 

Noct’s mind goes into overdrive, and the panic washes over him, and he doesn’t know what to do, because he doesn’t want to go on without Prompto, there’s no _point,_ and nothing can save this, nothing will fill in this sudden heavy, hot void that’s twisting him up and breaking him down.

 

There’s tears burning in Noct’s mind, and he’s torn, because the panic is gripping him, but the air is crackling with swirls of blue energy, because all he can think, between the frantic, half-formed thoughts of _Prompto, fuck, I love you,_ is that he’s going to fucking kill whoever did this. He’s going to break them into a million pieces, he’s going to grind their bones into nothing and he’s gonna spread their blood over the entire fucking city, and he’ll make it hell for them, and then he’ll go and die and be with Prompto.

 

The sun is coming up outside, and Noct’s life is fucking over.

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry. At all.   
> [Bonus art, y'all are welcome.](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/922700290700300288)  
> Tomorrow's gonna be a fun day. 8)


	25. Reverie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis finds Prompto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. TODAY. WOO. IT WAS A DAY.
> 
> First: You should see the fucking art, it's fantastic, Numi worked her goddamn ass off, and it's PERFECT.
> 
> [View on Tumblr here!](http://numinoceur.tumblr.com/post/166766161044/nocproctober-day-24-reverie-suddenly-it-became)
> 
> Second... this chapter, I can't really describe it, so just read. =)

Noctis, when he looks back on all this, he’ll remember very little.

 

It’s Luna who senses the difference, the sudden shift in moods. It’s a damn good thing, because Noct’s mind has gone blank. He can’t process this. The grief is hitting him heavy, in harsh, crashing waves that are threatening to beat him into oblivion. The only thing keeping him from getting lost in it is this maddening, building rage that’s bubbling up inside.

 

Noctis can’t even _remember_ being without Prompto, it’s been that fucking long. He doesn’t know when they imprinted on each other for sure, either, but even before that, they were _always_ able to sense each other’s presence, to find strength in each other. And _before_ that, there was always the weather. Even the worst of storms, when they were threatening to drown his entire fucking city, proved as a connection, a distinct way to know that Prompto’s out there, alive.

 

Now… there’s nothing.

 

Noctis wants to curl up into a corner and cry. He’s going to die, he’s not going to do this alone.

 

But, first, he’s already moving. His magic is taxing, _more_ than it should be, but he’s got to find Prompto. Noct has _no_ idea where to look, there’s no trace of magic to follow. He’s got vague ideas of the usual places Prompto would’ve gone, but that all requires a mind capable of _thought,_ and right now, Noct’s living a mindless life of panic. Squishy seems to _know_ something is wrong, but even the brush of tentacles can’t even dip below the surface of agony, and Noct leaves him here, because it just makes him think of _Prompto._

Luna and Nyx find him, panting and breathless, his eyes wild, hands braced against the side of a wall as Noct tries to catch his breath. He’s running on exhilaration, only _one_ thing in mind, and that’s to find whoever’s taken Prompt from him. It _hurts_ to use magic, though. It drains Noct in a way that it never has before, like his powers are fucking directly linked to Prompto – and they probably are – and now they’re crippled. The thought tears a sound that’s suspiciously like a sob from him, because _Prompto._

“Noct,” Luna’s voice cuts through the panic, but barely. It’s there, but it’s _not,_ and Noctis lifts his head, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have words. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Fuck, Noctis, what happened?” Nyx’s voice follows. Noct simply regards the two, as they approach. Luna looks _fierce,_ and there’s concern written across her face. Nyx looks cooler, more collected, his hands shoved in his pockets, but when their eyes meet, Noct thinks he sees some sort of expression flicker across Nyx’s face. The incubus’s eyes flicker up, to his horns, and then back down again, and there’s a strange look on his face. Noctis doesn’t have the presence of mind to ask; he’s too busy biting down sobs, too busy hating how exhausted he is. His powers are half-gone, he can’t do this _alone,_ he needs Luna and Nyx’s help, _again._

 

If Nyx wants to comment on any of this, he doesn’t. He’s always the best at keeping his shit together, at doing what needs to be done.

 

“Knew I smelled filthy daemon blood,” Nyx sighs, gripping Noctis roughly by the shoulder and hoisting him back to his feet, grip firm. Noctis tries to push him away, but Luna slides an arm around Noct’s waist and her touch is cool, reassuring, pushing just a _bit_ of clarity into his mind. She’s feeding on his negativity in a way – though it’s never fully effective against their own kind – and Noct wants to hate her, because it sharpens his senses just enough to remember the distinct feeling of _loss,_ but—

 

“Prompto,” Noct says, and his voice cracks, and his fists ball at his side, “ _please,_ I can’t feel him, he’s—”

 

Noctis can’t say the words, but Luna and Nyx exchange a _glance_ over his shoulder, and they know. They have to fucking know.

 

“Let’s kill some fucking daemons,” Nyx agrees.

 

\---

 

It’s a blur. That’s a trend here. Don’t ask Noctis how he got from point A to point B. It’s probably entirely Nyx. Noct’s pretty sure his feet are only trudging forward because of Luna’s arm on his shoulder, her abilities keeping his head… well, not clear. But she’s keeping Noctis from simply becoming entirely overwhelmed and giving up and going off somewhere to die. Melodramatic? Maybe a little, but his heart feels like it’s _gone_ from his chest, and he hasn’t felt this way in _hundreds_ of years.

 

The sight of dark daemon blood streaked across the pavement makes the hole where Noct’s heart was lurch heavy. He feels like he’s going to vomit. Worse: he still can’t _feel_ Prompto. This close, he can usually sense the other daemon’s presence, like a missing half that’s calling out to him. Now there’s only emptiness. That missing half is _gone,_ entirely empty, and Noctis _hurts_ everywhere.

 

“You guys wait here,” Nyx says, his voice sudden and harsh. This is Nyx’s specialty, dealing with violent, invading daemons. His tail’s swishing and his eyes have a _glint_ to them that Noct’s never seen before – though he’s only half aware of that, anyway – and Nyx is stalking forward, like a giant predator, in search of its prey.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Noctis would have listened, if it hadn’t been for a few things. Luna makes a quiet sound, one that Noct can’t interpret as relief or fear or horror, or maybe all three. There’s a streak of blood against a wall that’s _brighter_ than the other blood. It’s not the viscous corruption of lowers daemons, it’s _incubus_ blood, and suddenly, Noct’s pulling free from Luna and rushing forward, his magic coming back to him in bright swirls—

 

“Noctis, _don’t,”_ Luna tries to say, but Noctis ignores her, and even though Nyx gives pursuit, Noct’s mind is racing. He doesn’t care if he’s running into a trap, Prompto is here, he _knows_ it, and even though Noctis knows what he finds is going to destroy him, he can’t go back—

 

The first thing Noct sees, when he rounds the corner and turns into an alleyway, following the trails of blood, is that Prompto’s sprawled face-down across the ground. His head’s tipped to the side, and his face is an explosion of blood. It’s all over his skin, hiding the freckles, matting into his hair and twisting it into a gory mess. And—fuck, Noctis doesn’t know _what_ to think, because suddenly his legs are giving out. He’s falling onto his knees next to Prompto, fingers trembling, and the whole world stops.

 

Where Prompto’s horn was, it’s _gone._ There’s only a bloody gouge in the side of his head, a few jagged fragments of what _used_ to be a horn sticking out from the carnage. The pieces of his horn are dead, grey and charred at the edges, instead of their former pink and blue and purple, and _fuck,_ it feels like a part of Noctis is _gone._ A part of him _is_ gone, Prompto’s gone—

 

Noct’s magic is swirling around him, and he’s willing himself to die, to chase Prompto down into whatever comes next. He’s not aware of anything, because the scent of blood is thick in the air, and Prompto’s bleeding out all over his arms as he lifts him and cradles his face into his chest, and Noctis can’t see, the tears are falling wet and hot and bitter. He’s never known _true_ despair before, not until this very fucking moment. Incubi can’t live without their horns, and someone’s gone and cut Prompto’s off, and that’s it—

 

_“Noctis,”_ it’s Luna’s voice, the sharp accent turning her words _harsh_ as she shakes his shoulder. Nyx is trying to pry Prompto’s body from his arms, and Noct shakes his head and holds on harder, and suddenly, the idea of vengeance, or revenge, or whatever, none of it matters. He just wants to stay here and die.

 

“ _Stop,”_ Noctis tries to say, as Nyx tries to lift Prompto’s body away from him, “ _no,_ don’t take him—”

 

“ _Noctis,”_ Luna says, more insistently, giving his shoulder a rough shake, “Noct, _stop,_ he’s still alive!”

 

A bit of colour comes back into the world, and Noct’s grip goes slack, giving Nyx the opportunity to lift Prompto up, out of his grasp. Prompto’s lifeless and limp, but Noctis wants to _believe,_ he wants to hold onto something, _anything,_ and Luna’s words are suddenly his lifeline, his whole entire goddamn world.

 

“What…?” Noctis says, quietly. He’s covered in blood, and as he looks around, eyes scanning over the alleyway, he’s horrified by how much _blood_ there is everywhere. There’s fragments of charred horn, and just looking at them makes Noctis feel like he’s going to fucking vomit. He leans over, hands bracing on the rough pavement, the tiny grooves and stones digging into his palms as he retches, and there’s nothing to come up, but it’s a violent, bitter, terrible sound.

 

Nyx makes a strange noise in response, and carefully adjusts Prompto’s limp form in his arms. “He lucked out. Looks like only one horn was broken. If it’d been both, _well…”_

Nyx trails off, and Noctis doesn’t need to ask him to elaborate there. They _all_ know. Fuck, though, Prompto’s alive? It seems impossible, there’s _so much blood,_ but when Noct cautiously looks up at Prompto, dangling limp in Nyx’s strong arms, he can see the curve of his other horn, the side that had been pressed down into the ground. It’s scuffed up, covered in grime and blood, and the colours are dull, but they’re visible, it’s _there._

 

“Is he gonna…?” Noctis tries to ask. His voice is hoarse. He can’t breathe, he can’t quite think of anything to say, the world is spinning. Prompto’s _alive._ Why is the connection gone, though? It has to be because of the missing horn, but there aren’t many recorded incidents of incubi losing horns and living to talk about it, so it’s all vague, and Noctis is exhausted, he feels like he’s gonna pass out—

 

“Come on,” Luna says, quietly. Her dress is covered in blood and grime, but she leans down to get a hold of Noctis, to help him up to his feet. Noct stumbles and almost falls, and he has to lean heavily on the succubus, but he manages. “Let’s get you two home and cleaned up. There’s no point in worrying, Noct.”

 

Noctis doesn’t say that he can’t _not_ worry. He feels numb, exhausted, and worn to the very bone. Luna’s presence is calming, and Nyx is carrying Prompto, and fuck, Noct just keeps telling himself that he’s _alive._ Maybe he’ll make it. He doesn’t want to hope, but it’s there, the desperate _need_ for the other incubus to be okay.

 

Noct doesn’t remember the walk back. He doesn’t remember Luna helping him into the shower, or collapsing on the floor and crying as the hot water rushes over him. He doesn’t remember the two of them getting tucked in – Nyx cleaning Prompto up, because Noct _can’t,_ he just _can’t –_ or anything in between. All he remembers, when he looks back on it, is the terror, the horrible fear that everything is  ruined.

 

And, he distinctly remembers the look he briefly gets of himself in the bathroom mirror, and he’s horrified to realize that the stripe of pink is gone from his horns. It’s just purple and deep blue swirls again, and that’s terrifying. Their link is _gone,_ right as they’d realized they share it, and Noct doesn’t know if it’s ever going to come back.

 

\---

 

Prompto is still asleep when Noctis wakes up. Luna’s sitting at the side of the bed, concern etched across her face, but it’s not all gloom and depression.

 

It hurts to breathe, and it hurts even more to sit up, and Noctis knows it’s not echoes of pain from Prompto. It’s just his own body, overwhelmed to the point where he shut down and _slept_ for far too long.

 

“… Prompto?” is the first thing Noctis says, as he grumbles and pulls himself up in bed. His head hurts, throbbing in time with a rapidly beating heart. He’d dreamed of it, he _thinks,_ though it’s all a blur. Prompto’s lying in bed next to him, and there’s a thick gauze wrapped around his head, covering the place where his horn had been, and there’s crimson bleeding through it in some places. Noct’s eyes widen at the sight of blood, and he feels like he’s going to throw up all over again. He’s overwhelmed with a sudden, maddening wave of dizziness and Noct collapses back down onto the mattress, groaning.

 

“He’s survived,” Luna says, quietly, offering Noctis a smile that’s hopeful, optimistic, though Noct can’t quite feel that himself. He’s too fucking scared. “… he should recover, Noctis, but…” Luna sighs.

 

_But._ There’s always a but.

 

“But what?” Noct asks, quietly, unsure if he wants the answer.

 

“… horns take… a _long_ time to regrow,” Luna admits. “And a lot of energy. He… won’t really be aware of much, while he’s recovering. You’re going to have to get food into him, somehow.”

 

Noctis groans. He doesn’t know how to feel, or how to process any of this. His own powers feel… sapped, weakened, by all of this. Fuck, he’s going to have to get Nyx’s help to _hunt,_ and then getting it into Prompto is a whole other story, if the other incubus isn’t even conscious enough to help forge the bond. But it means that Prompto’s _alive,_ and fuck, even if it takes _years_ for him to recover, they’ve got a lifetime ahead of them, still, right?

 

There’s a nagging fear that whoever keeps attacking them will come back, though, and Prompto’s too out of it, too weak and helpless, to fight back, but _fuck,_ Noctis won’t let this happen again, he won’t, he’s going to fix this.

 

“I’m hungry,” Noctis admits, quietly. This has taken a lot out of him. He’s starving, in a way he hasn’t been in years. But he doesn’t want to leave Prompto’s side, and Noct rolls over, careful as he curls an arm around Prompto’s waist. Squishy is wedged up against Prompto’s side, and he makes a quiet noise, shifting as Noct’s fingers brush over tentacles. Prompto is hot to the touch, feverish, and he shivers under the touch, stirring just a little. It’s all fever dreams, red-hot and messy, Noct knows, but somehow, just that little bit of response is _everything._ It means Prompto’s alive, that he’s vaguely aware, somewhere, of all this.

 

“Nyx is keeping watch,” Luna says, in that same, quiet voice. “… he doesn’t normally hunt with a companion, but given the circumstances… he should go with you.”

 

“I don’t want to leave Prompto here alone,” Noctis replies, instantly, even though he knows he’s going to need Nyx’s help. Fuck, he wishes that he could just be okay on his own, that they could just _figure_ their shit out. Why is all this happening, suddenly?

 

Luna offers Noctis another _look._ “I’ll be here with him. I’m not helpless, Noctis. Nobody will get to him with me here.”

 

Noctis knows that. Prompto will be as safe as he can be with Luna around. Still… the thought of leaving Prompto alone, of being away from him, it’s overwhelming. That connection is _gone,_ and he can’t sense Prompto anymore, and suddenly, being physically close is _everything._

 

“I don’t want to leave him,” Noctis admits, quietly, and he curls in, pressing himself against Prompto’s sweat-slicked back. The other daemon is sick, the fever burning through him, his body working overdrive to try and recover, but a shattered horn is a _serious_ injury, and Noct’s terrified.

 

“I know,” Luna says, “but you have to.”

 

\---

 

It’s all a blur, and Noct’s a mess. A complete fucking mess. His horns were dull and monochrome, and that’s the only reason he dragged himself out with Nyx. The other daemon’s been patient with him, but eventually, after several failed feedings – incubi don’t _fail,_ what the fuck, it’s _sex –_ Nyx drags Noctis into an alleyway, slams him up against a wall, and gives him a lecture about ‘you need to fucking eat, it’s going to kill _both_ of you idiots if you can’t get it together’ and then things get a little bit better.

 

Noct’s still not fully satisfied, though, and when he returns, he crawls back into bed next to Prompto. Luna’s changed his bandages, and the bleeding’s calmed down a little, but there’s still… no sign that Prompto’s gonna wake up any time soon.

 

“I don’t know how to wake him up,” Noctis admits. He gets curled up around Prompto, and Squishy slithers across the pillow to settle at the base of his neck. It’s a warm, comforting presence, and Noct appreciates how hard the little malboro is trying to make things better.

 

“Don’t think you can,” Luna replies, simply.

 

Noctis doesn’t think so, either. There’s a bit of panic, but Prompto’s _sleeping,_ he’s obviously dreaming, his brow twisting and knitting and his lip trembling as he shifts a little.

 

“I’m going to go see Nyx,” Luna says, standing up, “this is… exhausting. You should nap.” She doesn’t voice the, _you know what do to,_ but it’s loud and clear in her tone, in the way she meets Noct’s gaze, before she turns and walks away, closing the door behind them. Noctis sighs. He knows. He doesn’t _like_ this part of being an incubus, and there’s always been an unspoken privacy between them. Going into someone’s head can… well, it can show things that are better left hidden. Prompto’s past is messy enough with Noctis stirring things up.

 

But what choice does he have?

 

Noctis snuggles closer, and he presses his face into the back of Prompto’s neck, laying a kiss over the edge of the thick gaze wrapped around, and he closes his eyes and he steps into a dream world, his eyes glowing bright underneath their lids.

 

\---

 

Their living quarters have changed over the years. Buildings have gotten old and outdated and dilapidated, torn down and replaced with new ones, so they’ve had to move around a little, though they never go far. Furniture has been switched out and replaced. Technology has been updated. Their current place is cozy, and they’ve been here for… a couple of decades? It’s been renovated a few times.

 

Noctis finds himself in one of their older places, and it’s a long time ago. He _knows,_ and it’s funny, because it’s bringing memories bubbling to the surface, instantly, just looking around one of their old homes, one that they _made_ together. The structure was there before they moved in, of course, but they made it feel warm and safe.

 

“Hey,” Prompto says, quietly, and Noctis spins around, abruptly, the sound of his lover’s voice echoing through his head, a mantra, something Noct hadn’t expected to hear again. He hates dreams. Prompto’s not _really_ speaking to him, and dreams like this? They’re vivid and bright and they feel fucking real.

 

“Hey, yourself,” Noctis replies. Prompto’s sitting up in bed, and the sheets are pooling around waist. He’s naked, and his hair is mussed, and, in his fucking dream, he has both his horns. They’re his own colours, but this is in the past, so it’s no surprise. The rain is coming down _hard,_ outside, and even that brings Noctis comfort. Rain is Prompto’s aesthetic, and it’s familiar.

 

“I think I’m upset about something,” Prompto laughs a little nervously, nodding in the direction of the window, where the rain is beating, hard and steady. “… I don’t really remember, though.”

 

Noctis approaches, and he sits down on the edge of the bed. He has the urge to crawl over Prompto, to get his arms around him and his lips on him, and to never fucking let him go. He _misses_ him, and the tension is thick in the air. This is a dream, but it’s so goddamn real, does it really matter?

 

“We got in a fight, I think,” Noctis admits. He’s trying to think back. They’ve _lived_ this moment. “… you ran off.” He thinks. He’s not sure. “And then you came back to me. I—remember being worried.”

 

“So why’s it still raining?” Prompto asks. His eyes are fixed on Noct’s, swirling with emotion, and Noctis feels the urge to pull Prompto into his damn arms. So, he does, because why shouldn’t he? Noct slides across the bed and he’s got his arms around Prompto, tugging him into his lap, and their lips meet, hot and desperate. Noct’s eyes are burning and his cheeks are wet as he draws away, but he doesn’t fucking care, and he goes in for more kisses.

 

“You’re dreaming,” Noct mumbles, between kisses, “this isn’t really happening.”

 

“Oh,” Prompto agrees, and goes in for more kisses. Then, he pulls away a little, head tipping to the side, their eyes meeting. “… wait. I’m dreaming? You can come into my dreams?”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis doesn’t wanna dwell on that part. He’s an incubus. They all can do it. Well. Maybe not Prompto—he’s never done it before. It’s common knowledge, but then… sometimes Prompto really has no concept of what their kind do. Noct’s _good_ at it, he could probably feed solely on dreams if he wanted to, but fuck, he gets _lost_ in them, and he hates how it makes him feel.

 

Prompto doesn’t respond, but his arms tighten around Noctis, and he leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “… I think it’s raining cuz I’m hurt. Aren’t I?”

 

Noctis doesn’t want to reply. His silence is a response in itself, though, and Prompto ducks his head down. “… fuck. Is it bad, Noct?”

 

“You’ll be okay,” Noctis sighs, and he lifts a hand, tracing it along the horn that’s missing, in reality. Prompto sighs, and tips his head into the touch, shivering and arching his hips. It feels good, and Noct just wants to stay like _this,_ close and warm and happy.

 

“… Noct, I don’t feel well,” Prompto says, though. “A dream? This _can’t_ be a dream, Noctis, it’s too real—”

 

And just as quickly as this strange, warm domesticity has settled in, it’s abruptly changing, twisting and altering around them. Prompto lifts his head away, and when Noctis glances up, the horn is gone. It’s twisted into black smoke, moving and swirling of its own volition, sweeping into Noct’s face and getting in his lungs. He gasps, and chokes, and closes his eyes.

 

All Noctis can hear is the rain, and all he can feel is bitter smoke swirling in his very veins. Fuck, he hates coming into dreams, because messing with someone’s head? It’s always a recipe for disaster, any little thing can – and often _does –_ go wrong, and it’s only because Noct’s good at this that he isn’t outright thrown out.

 

When the smoke fades away, and the dust settles around him, Noct’s – well. He’s not sure _where_ he is. It’s dark out, and he’s in the middle of a street he doesn’t entirely recognize. It’s _not_ his town. Noctis knows that. He’s in one of Prompto’s dreams, that much is certain; there’s a _feeling_ to dreams that isn’t present in the real world, and Prompto’s dreams have a distinct emotion to them. Noctis can feel it crackling through him. Whatever this place is, it has some significance to Prompto.

 

Noct, though? He gets the distinct feeling that he’s not supposed to be here, fuck.

 

“I hate dreams,” Noctis sighs. He _can_ alter them. He shouldn’t, and it can fuck things up even more. It’s an unspoken rule that it’s bad manners to go into someone’s head and fuck around with what they’re thinking. It’s bad enough, in Noct’s mind, to be invading someone else’s thoughts at all, because there’s the tendency to end up in places one shouldn’t, like _right now._

Noctis senses Prompto’s presence behind him. It’s _almost_ a relief, because there’s an echo of that connection raw in his heart, where that awful void of emptiness lives. It stabs through his ribs, and Noct senses eyes on the back of his neck.

 

He spins around, though, and it’s _Prompto,_ but it’s not. It’s a Prompto from the past, from _before_ Noctis knew him, he knows that instantly. That wild, half-feral expression has his features twisted. His skin is pale, and his horns are a dull, monochrome, and his lips are quirked up into a half-smirk. Even his freckles seem faded and dull, like they don’t belong on his face, and his hair isn’t styled the way it normally is. It’s softer, dark curls falling over his forehead and nestled around horns that aren’t quite the same, either. They’re thinner, and they don’t spiral, tapering backwards into twisted little points.

 

“Noct,” the voice almost sounds like Prompto’s, but it’s darker, it’s twisted, and it sounds like the voice of a killer. “The fuck you doing? You coming, or what? I’m _hungry.”_

 

Prompto stucks his tongue out, and there’s twin studs dotting it. It’s such a weird thing, so _uncanny valley,_ and Noctis, again, gets the distinct fucking feeling that this is a dream he’s _not_ supposed to be a part of.

 

“Prompto,” Noctis tries to say. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, it’s sultry, darker, and fuck, there’s a mad rush taking over, a bloodlust, the urge to get Prompto slammed up against a wall, his lips on his neck, and it’s not _anything_ he should be thinking, but he doesn’t quite feel like himself. There’s bruises on Prompto’s neck, like he’s doing that before, and there’s memories that aren’t quite Noct’s own, echoes from a dream that shouldn’t exist—

 

“Noct,” Prompto says, and takes a step forward, a hand extended, and Noctis knows he shouldn’t fucking take Prompto’s hand, even though the urge is strong, _powerful,_ damn near overwhelming. Instead, Noctis turns and takes the fuck off. He hates going into dreams, he _hates_ what he finds there, and the inner demons that lurk in the depths of someone’s mind. Even Prompto’s mind. Fuck, _especially_ Prompto’s mind, because there’s a darkness to him, the storm clouds that always seem close by.

 

Noctis trips, and _that’s_ unusual, because he’s an incubus, he doesn’t fucking trip over curbs. He goes flying, his face scraping into the pavement. Behind him, he hears laughter and the steady footsteps of the Prompto who is not-Prompto, too. Noct’s hands scrabble for purchase, and there’s a sudden cold wind sweeping in, a swirl of dust that claws into his eyes, blinding him, turning his vision red and maddening and—

 

Noct’s never felt so goddamn relieved when the dream lifts, when he’s carried again, away from what _could have been,_ into what has been.

 

He’s back home. Their current home, too. The same bed that they’re sleeping on, in the real world. Noct’s eyes still burn, and it’s an unpleasant reminder that whatever happens in dreams, they linger, they stay with him. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. He’s gonna tell Luna and Nyx to figure out _some other way_ for him to chase Prompto down, because going into the subconscious of a sick incubus is terrible.

 

Noctis hears the shower running, though, and he pokes his head into the bathroom. He’s half afraid of what he’ll find there. The room is thick with steam, but it surrounds him, warm and encompassing, none of the former terror.

 

Prompto’s in the shower. Noctis smiles, and he tugs his clothes off and creeps in behind him. This is a _memory,_ he realizes, from a couple of months back. It’d been before everything had gone to shit, before all this silly imprinting stuff had gotten into Prompto’s head and made him afraid and insecure. It’s a warm memory, and it’s the one Noctis wants to dwell on, for a little while.

  
That’s the other downside to sneaking into someone’s head. It’s far too fucking easy to want to _stay_ there.

 

“Noct,” Prompto sighs, when Noctis slips into the shower and curls his arms around him from behind, a head settling on his shoulder. Prompto leans his head in, nuzzling into the side of Noct’s horn. Their horns bump, and for a horrible moment, Noct worries that they’re going to get caught in each other – what a hell of a dream that would be – but Prompto straightens again, leaning back, the curve of his ass nestled nicely against Noct’s stirring erection.

 

“You miss me?” Noctis teases, with a quiet laugh and a smile. The mood is a nice one. It’s tinged with nostalgia, and it’s very clearly a dream, but it’s a nice one. He can _tell_ that much. If he’s got to reach Prompto in a dream, this is the one to do it.

 

“Miss you?” Prompto laughs back, and tips his head to lap away a trail of water that’s working down Noct’s jaw. “I _just_ got out of bed. You were asleep.”

 

Prompto doesn’t know it’s a dream, and that’s the best way to do it. Noctis feels guilty, of course, but he remembers what had happened earlier. He’d mentioned it being a dream, and Prompto had reacted so strongly, so negatively. His emotions are running high, and his mind’s a mess, from the fever and the trauma and the pain that he’s got to be feeling through it all, so Noct doesn’t bring it up.

 

“Bet you missed me anyway,” Noctis says, instead. His fingers run down Prompto’s belly, over his wet, soap-slicked skin, tracing the definition of his abs. Prompto sighs as Noct’s fingers chase sensitive spots, teasing at his hips, dipping further, lazily cupping his growing erection with deft fingers.

 

“Always miss you,” Prompto agrees, with a quiet sigh, as he tips his head back. Noctis laughs, and he tugs at Prompto’s hips, taking a step back and turning them, so that Prompto’s back is pressed up against the shower wall, and their chests are together, skin against skin, hot rivulets of water running between them.

 

Noctis likes having Prompto here, like this. It’s too easy to get lost in the wash of emotion, to ignore the faded, blurry quality of reality around them. He both loves and hates it. It’s hard not to be a little in love with dreams, because this is a world that exists, quite literally, solely for the two of them. Prompto’s so familiar under his hands, and it’s warm and happy, because they _lived_ this.

 

It’s too easy to push the reality aside, of the fact that they’re both asleep in bed, that Prompto might not wake up for a long time, that he _hurts,_ in the real world. Noct’s lips are working overdrive, and he’s tracing hot lines with his tongue over every bit of skin he can reach. His hands are running through Prompto’s hair, over his horns, and Prompto gasps, tipping into the touch, as Noctis strokes them. He doesn’t dote a ton of attention here, because Prompto’s so goddamn sensitive, but it feels _right,_ this time. Noct’s fingers curl around the base, running and tracing over the ridge, fingers brushing along that splashing line of violet that still exists, _here,_ in a fucking dream. It’s not as visible as it had been when all this shit had happened, but it’s there, now that Noctis knows to look for it.

 

“Noct,” Prompto gasps, when Noctis leans in, when his lips press into Prompto’s horn, tongue tracing the ridges, tracing the spiraling curve. Prompto’s hips are rocking forward, and he’s fully hard, and it’s _hot._ It’s too much, it’s got to be something close to painful, Prompto’s so sensitive and overstimulated, but he’s not stopping Noctis.

 

“Fuck, I love everything about you,” Noct mumbles, and they’re words that he wishes he could say in person, that he had said weeks ago, instead of drawing all this out. There’s a nagging suspicion, the thought that if he’d been less stupid, less stubborn, they would’ve resolved this weeks ago, that Prompto wouldn’t have been out alone to get attacked—

 

Prompto sighs, and his fingers fist into Noct’s hair as Noctis tips his head, nuzzling into the base of his horns, placing wet, messy kisses all over. He’s smiling, Noctis can tell, even though he can’t see it, and it makes his heart swell up. Here, in the damn dream, everything is still _perfect,_ and it feels so good, it hurts.

 

“You’re way too soft, Noct,” Prompto mumbles, when Noctis finally drags his lips away, when he ducks back down to pepper Prompto’s lips with soft kisses. Prompto’s hips lift up at the same moment Noct’s rock forward, and they both groan as their cocks rub together, the heat between them only increasing the friction. It feels _good,_ and Noct wants to tug Prompto’s legs up around his waist, to get buried inside. He doesn’t though, he resists the urge, and ducks his head down, tracing along the delicious expanse of revealed throat. The water’s running thick and heavy, and Noct laps at a stray little trail, his teeth grazing light over Prompto’s skin.

 

“ _You_ made me soft,” Noctis teases. He braces a hand on the wall next to Prompto and continues his trail downward. He makes sure to catch every single freckle with a kiss, to lap at water, to press hot-wet suction into sensitive spots. It’ll leave bruises blossoming on Prompto’s skin, bruises that don’t really exist, because this is a fucking dream, but it’s still nice anyway. Prompto’s gasping and arching his hips up, when Noctis sinks down to his knees. His lips work over Prompto’s belly, dipping into his navel – eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a soft giggle, one that melts his heart – and tracing over his abs. Prompto’s hands work through Noct’s hair, stroking, teasing, tugging lightly, tracing over his horns and making him sigh.

 

“You’ve _always_ been soft,” Prompto manages, when Noct’s teeth tug at one of the hip piercings. The conversation is lazy and belated, drifting between them, much like the dream itself. Noct’s lips are working over Prompto’s skin, slow and reverent. He traces over the curve of Prompto’s hip, pressing soft kisses along the v-line of his pelvis, and Prompto sighs, rocking forward, his cock curving up to rock against Noct’s cheek.

 

Prompto’s right, of course. Even long before they met, Noct’s been _soft._ He has a feeling, in the back of his mind, that he could’ve easily been pulled the other way. Prompto’s chaotic, under the surface, but he’s been tamed by Noct’s lazy nature. It could’ve gone the other way, so easily, and that earlier dream is hot in Noct’s mind. He’s so grateful that they made it here. Even if in reality, things are all kinds of broken, they still have a _chance._ He’s clinging to it.

 

“Maybe I have always been soft,” Noctis replies, pressing open-mouthed kisses all around the base of Prompto’s cock, dipping down to nuzzle his balls, hands heavy as they grip Prompto’s thighs. “You love me anyway.”

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, and this time, the response is instant, even as he gasps, his cock twitching as the heavy length of it slides over Noct’s cheek. “I do.”

 

Noctis squeezes Prompto’s thighs. He nuzzles his cheek fully along the hot length of him, tongue darting out to trace a vein, but he doesn’t linger here. He’d love to be on his knees, worshipping Prompto in this world they’ve created, but he wants to love him, _fully._ He ducks down further, spreads kisses inside Prompto’s thighs, laughing hot breath against sensitive skin when Prompto twitches and shifts his weight, giving Noct more room.

 

“You’re getting’ impatient, huh?” Noctis, of course, can read Prompto’s body language perfectly. He’s proud of himself, because this is a dream, an alternate reality, but Prompto is still so real, so _his._ He pulls his hands away, bracing against the wall as he steadies himself and draws up fully again to his feet. Prompto’s waiting, and arms curl around his neck, pulling him in for a deep, needy kiss.

 

“Just fuck me already,” Prompto mumbles, breathless, against his lips, and Noct can’t help but smile. That’s the goddamn Prompto he knows. Noct grips Prompto by the hips, and spins him around, with a bit of playful roughness, getting his face and his chest and his belly pressed up against the slick shower wall. Prompto gasps his surprise, his arms knocked free from Noct’s neck, and he braces them against the wall, ass jutting back in the air, inviting.

 

Noct likes having Prompto pinned this way. He wastes no time, one hand gripping at his hip, the other reaching between them, stroking along the cleft of Prompto’s ass, lining himself up. One solid thrust of his hips has him buried inside. It’s a fucking nice angle, one where Noctis can look down and see his cock being swallowed up by Prompto’s ass, and that’s fucking _hot._ The first motions are somewhat gentle, but when Noctis bottoms out, looks down and _sees_ himself nestled fully inside, it starts the frenzied fire burning in him.

 

Maybe he can’t bear to look at Prompto’s face when it’s just a dream. Noct’s not sure. He loves having Prompto this way, though. Prompto’s rocking back into the thrusts, meeting the pace Noctis sets, and his back is curved deliciously. Noct’s lips trace up the curve of his spine, biting and nipping into Prompto’s shoulder, leaving more marks that don’t really exist. Prompto’s gasping, clawing at a wall he can’t quite get a real, solid hold of. He’s twisting and writhing against the wall, rocking his ass back against Noct. The energy is building around them, and it’s a rush of _relief,_ because this is something familiar.

 

It’s something that goes beyond the realm of dreams. It’s the draw that Prompto _needs._ Noctis gets lost in it. He reaches a hand around, shifting from hip to grasp at Prompto’s cock, jerking him in rough, heavy strokes, thumbing over the tip. Prompto’s erection is twitching in his hands, heavy and needy, and he’s vaguely gasping out that he’s close, that he’s gonna get there, a mantra of “ _Noct—”_

 

Noctis doesn’t need to hear it to know. The hot streak of precome over his fingers, before the water washes it away, is a dead giveaway. So is the way Prompto’s ass is clenching down as Noctis fucks into him, the way he’s gripping him inside whenever a perfectly aimed thrust has the tip of Noct’s cock presses into him in all the right ways. Noct’s not trying to hold Prompto back, he’s simply letting him get lost in the pleasure, to feed on the energy as much as he goddamn can.

 

Prompto comes with his head tossed back, his spine arched sharply, his whole body trembling and twitching with bliss. His release is hot and messy on Noct’s hand, and he strokes him through his orgasm, until his cock is softening and the shower rinses the mess away. Noct’s still buried inside, and his thrusts slow, steadying into a gentle, heavy roll of his hips. He’s teetering on the edge, and Prompto’s clenching and gripping around him, oversensitive and needy from his release.

 

“Fuck, _Noct,”_ Prompto gasps out, when he finds the breath to speak, and he rocks back, desperately grinding his ass into Noct, trying to draw him deeper, “c’mon, wanna feel you.”

 

It’s all just a dream, but the words sound _so_ fucking real, that it draws Noct’s release out of him. He’s not sure if he’s gasping or sobbing or maybe _both,_ but he snaps his hips forward and lets his orgasm overtake him. It’s intense, more than Noct expected, for a _dream,_ and he’s reminded, yet again, why he hates doing this so fucking much. It’s good, and he wants to stay here, with Prompto, forever, warm and happy.

 

“I love you,” Noct’s mumbling, as he rides out his orgasm, and his eyes are wet and hot, tears spilling over Prompto’s shoulder as he presses his face there, reverent and worshipful.

 

“Love you,” Prompto agrees, lazily, and he sounds relaxed, content, as he slumps against the wall. Noctis doesn’t want to leave. He wants to pull out, to wash Prompto’s body, slow and careful, to kiss away all the aches and pains, to trace, bruises, to go to sleep…

 

But the steam’s swirling up around them, and Noct’s aware, as he pulls free, that Prompto’s body isn’t warm against him anymore. He blinks, and suddenly the water’s gone _cold._ He’s not in the shower at all. The steam’s changed, too. It’s not heat anymore, it’s _thick_ and clinging, and it clouds Noct’s vision. For a moment, panic settles in, because he’s lost in it.

 

He hates dreams. Noct thinks that, yet again, because he _hates_ dreams.

 

Noct’s done what he needs to do. He wills himself to get the fuck out of here, before he plummets deeper into Prompto’s mind, before he really _does_ get lost in it.

 

In the distance, walking through the fog, a heavy drizzle coming down, Noctis swears he sees Prompto. His motions are jerky, twisted, like he’s not entirely his own person. It reminds Noct of those earlier days, when Prompto had been feral and wild and confused.

 

There’s someone walking with Prompto, and Noct’s _curious,_ but he can’t. He needs to leave.

 

Noctis feels himself drifting away, and there’s relief, because Prompto and the other figure are approaching, and in the moments before he slips out of the dream, and back into reality, he swears that he feels amber eyes – eyes that look a lot like his own – locking onto him.

 

\---

 

Noctis feels even more exhausted when he wakes up. His body is heavy and sore, and he’s _starving._ He hates dream walking. He hates it so goddamn much.

 

Luna is sitting by the bed again. Noctis groggily tries to sit up, but Squishy’s sprawled over him, and everything _hurts._

 

“I’ll get you some water,” Luna says, and their eyes meet. She offers a reassuring smile, and nods her head slightly in Prompto’s direction. Noct doesn’t want to look, but he does anyway. Prompto’s on his back now, sleeping still, and his one horn is bright. It’s still missing the purple, but it doesn’t look like he’s starving. He looks feverish and troubled though, his brow furrowing and his lips moving in words that don’t quite come out.

 

“… how long was I out?” Noctis asks. His head hurts. He hates being in _pain,_ and he just wants to sleep again. He can’t though. He’ll have to go find some mortals to snack on, and he’s gonna have to ask Nyx’s help there, _again._ Fuck.

 

“A few days,” Luna says, a bit reluctantly. “… there was a moment when I sensed… danger. But it passed, so I didn’t feel the need to wake you.”

 

“Fuck,” Noctis sighs. Days? It’d felt like maybe an hour. He hates dreams. It makes time stand still sometimes. Other times, it jumps forward, and he’s just lost _days._ No wonder he’s exhausted, pulled thin and worn down. He’s starving, too, and he just wants Prompto to wake up.

 

Luna stands up, and fetches water, as promised. Noctis doesn’t need it, but his throat is parched and scratchy and dry, and even if it’s not required to survive, it makes him feel a little better. It’s a bit of relief, at least, and he manages to sit up.

 

“… Prompto?” Noctis asks, slowly. He doesn’t know if he wants the answer.

 

“He hasn’t woken up,” Luna says. “… his horn stopped bleeding, finally, but it’s… still a mess, Noctis.”

 

Noctis knew as much. He hates this. He desperately wants to dive back into dreams to relive memories of when they were together, but that’s a slippery slope. It’s too easy to lose touch of reality. After all, right now? All he wants is to let himself drift off again, to relive happier times, ones that don’t exist.

 

“Please wake up, Prom,” Noct says, quietly, and that’s all he can do. Luna’s watching him with sympathy, and she doesn’t have to say anything, because he knows she’s willing him not to get lost in it, as much as Noctis does. He only hopes that Prompto will have the strength to keep going, that his horn will grow back, and he’ll wake up.

 

And what the hell will happen when he does? Is the connection gone forever?

 

Noctis doesn’t know, and he’s terrified of that, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE TELL US WHAT YOU THINK.
> 
> i suck at replying to comments cuz i'm pumping out content so fucking fast, BUT I REALLY REALLY LOVE THE COMMENTS SO MUCH, numi and i read them all and we love them. <3
> 
> twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree; numi is @numinoceur.
> 
> Thanks, see you guys tomorrow :D


	26. Sunflower Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Prompto!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual kink meme prompt for today was smiles/laughter--and it's our boy's birthday! So we went with it. :D We had fun with today. We facetimed thru this and it was a lot of collective cackling about how GAY it is. I love this. :D   
> [The art is so soft, too!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/923399400226820096)

Noctis has no concept of time, really, except that Prompto hasn’t woken up. He’s tired, and he hates sitting and _waiting,_ always waiting, but what else can he? He knows that he owes Luna and Nyx… well, a whole fucking lot, because they’ve been essentially keeping him alive. Luna’s patience is something of a godsend, and Noct’s _really_ damn lucky that Nyx will do anything for her. He… doesn’t think he could do this alone.

 

He hates that, too, but fuck, he’s the worst incubus anyway, right? Totally domesticated, bent all out of shape over Prompto’s condition, and reluctant, every time he has to delve into Prompto’s dreams.

 

He’d gone too deep that first time. Noctis doesn’t talk about it, because he feels like he violated a part of Prompto’s trust, somehow, like he saw memories and entities that he wasn’t supposed to. Noct wants to apologize, but all he can do is curl up next to Prompto and make sure he’s safe and tended to. The bleeding’s long stopped, and they’ve taken the bandages off, but the hole is still there, where Prompto’s horn was, and it hasn’t started to regrow yet.

 

There’s a lot of things about Prompto’s past that are uncertain, and a lot of things that they don’t _know._ Prompto had mentioned, one day, ages ago, that his first memory, his first solid, real one, that he can remember—from before Noctis, at that – was October 25. He doesn’t offer up a whole lot, something about a newspaper headline and that day must have had some significance, but the day had stuck with him.

 

Noctis doesn’t even realize how much time has passed here, Prompto unconscious, until he realizes abruptly, one day, that it’s Prompto’s birthday. Well. It’s not his _birthday,_ there’s no real word for it, but Noct’s got those mortal tendencies and he’s absolutely put a human label to it. He knows, of course, because he’s seen enough human television dramas to know that a missed birthday is terrible, and he’d set a calendar reminder in his phone… several years ago, for this particular day.

 

Prompto always thought it was _silly,_ that Noctis celebrates a day that he can barely even remember, a day that has zero real significance to him other than it’s the first time he was apparently a ‘something’ rather than a mysterious ‘nothing’. Hell, he’d been upset with the idea of celebrating it, at first. Of course, in the end, Noctis always wins, and Prompto’s always happy enough to eat cake and let Noct buy him gifts, and to tease that ‘you are so soft, Noct,’ and he’s right, but they’re both ridiculously happy all the same. Making memories on this day, somehow, is important. They’ve been doing it for _years._

 

So his phone alarm goes off, as he’s curled up next to Prompto, an arm thrown around his waist. Noctis groans, and he reaches for it, and his stomach sinks when he realizes the day. He… hasn’t done any preparation, of course. He’s vaguely aware that a reminder alarm totally went off a couple of days ago, but he’d been in one of his ‘Prompto’s never gonna wake up’ depressive states, and he’d ignored it.

 

“Happy birthday,” Noct whispers as he tucks back in, pressing his face into Prompto’s hair. It’s freshly washed, something he probably doesn’t _need_ to do, but something that feels important, to keep the other incubus clean and taken care of. It’s one of the few things Noct _can_ do right now. Prompto stirs a little under the touch – he’s been moving around more lately – but he doesn’t wake. He never wakes. Luna says it’s a good thing that he’s been more active, that he _might_ wake soon.

 

Noctis knows it’s a shot in the dark, because this is totally unpredictable. He might never wake up.

 

“Guess it’s lucky you’re in a coma, huh? You don’t have to deal with my shitty singing,” Noctis tries to laugh, there, but the words come out a little choked, and not quite as teasing as he’d hoped.

 

Prompto doesn’t reply. As usual. Noct doesn’t expect anything different, but he still sighs heavily and presses a kiss into the back of Prompto’s neck.

 

All of the usual stuff seems stupid and pointless. Why would he bother celebrating something Prompto’s not awake for?

 

“Maybe we should celebrate in your dreams, huh?” Noctis says, idly, and then he goes still because… _well,_ actually, that’s not a bad idea. Fuck.

 

Noctis hates dream-chasing. There’s no real rules behind it, of course, but there’s unspoken guidelines that Noctis follows. Some incubi have no fucking issues with manipulating dreams as they see fit. Noct’s always been uncomfortable with it. The lure to stay in the dream world is strong, especially for someone as predisposed to sleep and laziness as Noctis is. Maybe that’s why he’s better at sneaking into dreams than a lot of his kind. Just tumbling into Prompto’s dreams to make sure he’s getting enough energy to stay _alive_ is draining. But… well. It’s Prompto’s birthday.

 

Maybe Noct’s doing it for Prompto. Or fuck, maybe he’s doing it for himself. Maybe it’s just for _both_ of them, and that seems to be an acceptable compromise.

 

“… you know, that’s a good idea. I should just come to you,” Noctis laughs, and this time, the sound is genuine, and he closes his eyes and he falls again, and each time he does it? It gets so much easier.

 

\---

 

Before, Noct’s always been careful to be a visitor, and nothing more. He learned from that first incident not to mention that they’re dreaming, because Prompto doesn’t react well to that. He’s been careful not to reach out and manipulate the delicate web that surrounds them. Right now, though, it’s different.

 

Noct doesn’t want to relive old, echoing memories. Prompto tends to pull him in random directions. Most of the old dreams are reliving moments they’ve shared. Some delve deeper, and Noctis never takes the bait on those ones, because he distinctly gets the feeling that those are secrets he’s not supposed to know right now.

 

Today, though? They find themselves on a beach. It’s Noct’s doing. It’s _entirely_ his mind, pulling them out of this damn apartment, away from everything, and to the ocean. They’ve been there a couple of times, and the memories are the foundation, but this is different. The world seems to spin around them before it settles in heavily, and Noctis finds himself standing in the sand, at the water’s edge. Prompto’s next to him, and he’s smiling, their fingers tangled together. The sun’s coming up, and this absolutely _is_ a dream, because even though Noctis doesn’t necessarily prescribe to standard sleeping schedules, he can’t ever see himself willingly watching a sunrise on the beach.

 

But, well, here they are, in the dream world. And he has to admit – it’s nice.

 

“This is gonna go down in history as the one time I got you out of bed in time for the sunrise, huh?” Prompto teases, nudging into his shoulder. It knocks Noctis out of his thoughts. For a moment, he feels a little bit guilty, because this isn’t really happening. But… well, it’s real to Noctis, and for Prompto, dreaming it, it’s happening, so why feel bad?

 

“Yep. Better make the most of it,” Noctis agrees, squeezing Prompto’s hand in response. They both laugh, and their shoulders knock together, and they make their way across the sand. The sky’s all bright, and Noct realizes, in a vague sort of way, that it reminds him of Prompto. It’s all pink and orange-tinted at the horizon, where the sun’s peaking up, fading into bright blue sky as it stretches toward them. It’s Prompto’s colours, and maybe Noct’s mind created it that way on purpose. Or, maybe he’s simply creating meaning out of nothing. Either way—he’s _smiling._

 

Prompto doesn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence between them is quiet and perfect, in itself. It’s comfortable. They’ve known each other for _so_ long, and they’ve been constant companions, that they don’t need to talk. It’s interesting, Noctis thinks. They’re in a dream, but it feels real. It makes him think back on the rocky start of their relationship, and how far they’ve come over the centuries. It’s slow, steady progress, but it’s still _progress._ Fuck, thinking about it that way, it’s easy to cling to that little bit of optimism, that thought that Prompto is gonna wake up and they’ll get that bond back.

 

Noct tips his head and simply watches Prompto, and he realizes, with a heavy jolt, that the purple is there, in his dream. Prompto’s got both of his horns, and that streak of colour is there, and even though it’s _his_ mind creating it, he’s pleased. He wants it to be this way.

 

“You’re awfully quiet, Noct,” Prompto says, breaking the silence after a while. The morning sky is still, and the waves are gentle as they lap at the shore. It’s nice, too, sharing a day that’s perfectly calm, because Noct’s so used to the rain and the wind, from Prompto’s shifts.

 

“Just thinking,” Noctis admits, with a shake of his head, and a bit of embarrassed laughter. “You know me. Always stuck in my head.”

 

“ _You’re_ not the one always stuck in your head,” Prompto teases. He’s smiling though, and the energy between them is gentle and peaceful and happy. Noct’s glad Prompto isn’t wondering _how_ they got here. They’re so far away from everything they know. Maybe, on some level, Prompto knows this is a dream, too, but it doesn’t matter.

 

“We’re _both_ stuck in our heads then,” Noctis agrees, with a laugh, “and that’s why we’re perfect for each other.”

 

Prompto groans. “Noctis, you’re _soft,_ that was so fucking cheesy.”

 

It lightens the mood again, though, and they both laugh. Noctis stops them, spinning Prompto around, an arm hooking around his waist and dragging him in for a kiss. Their horns knock together with the momentum, and Prompto makes a noise, but it’s silenced by their lips pressing together. It’s all reflex response, Prompto’s arms lifting to wrap around Noct’s neck, both of them laughing against each other’s lips through the kiss. Noct squeezes at Prompto’s hip and the kiss deepens, all warm drags of tongue.

 

It’s too easy to get lost—hell, Noctis is pretty sure that in a dream world like this, he could kiss Prompto all damn day. Of course, they’re standing at the water’s edge, and a particularly big wave splashes up over them, and suddenly there’s water flooding over their feet, swirling around and rushing into their shoes, and it’s not cold, but it’s a _surprise._ Noct damn near jumps out of his skin, pulling back, and Prompto, the asshole, _laughs_ at him.

 

“Scared of the water?” Prompto asks, and he gives Noctis a playful shove. Noct really should expect these things by now; incubi certainly aren’t supposed to be _clumsy._ It catches him off guard, though, and he sputters and falls backwards into the water. He’s still got a grip on Prompto’s waist though, and Noct pulls Prompto down with him, and they’re landing in a wet, laughing pile on the wet sand, the lazy ocean waves lapping in around them.

 

“If I have to suffer, you do too,” Noctis replies, splashing a bit of water in Prompto’s face. Prompto grumbles and squints and splashes back, and soon they’re both soaking wet, clothes clinging and covered in wet, sticky sand. Prompto tackles Noctis and he ends up on his back, a couple inches deep in swirling, warm tropical water, with Prompto on top of him, straddling his hips.

 

“You’re an asshole. I’m all covered in sand,” Prompto’s laughing, though, and it’s the nicest sound. He looks soft, and genuinely _happy._ The warm light is coming up behind him, the sun rising higher in the sky, and it’s filtering soft, golden light, turning Prompto’s hair into delicate strands of gold. His freckles are bright, and his eyes are clear, swirling with colour. For once, Prompto doesn’t look like he’s burdened down by his powers, by his past, or their future, or anything that’s happened.

 

Noctis wants every fucking day to be like this. It’s dangerous, dwelling here, in a world where he can _create_ whatever he wants for them. He knows this, and he doesn’t entirely care.

 

“I’m the one who’s wet,” Noctis points out, as he braces a hand against the wet sand – his fingers sinking into it, and the water rushing around – and pulls himself up to a sitting position. There’s definitely sand in his hair, and all over his clothes, and there’s a smear of it across Prompto’s cheek, too. They look a hot mess. It makes Noct smile though.

 

“It’s your birthday, y’know,” Noct adds. Prompto blinks, and for a moment, his thoughts go clouded and confused. Most likely, it’s a hole in the dream- it’s a solid place in an otherwise hazy timeline, and it’s a fact that doesn’t quite add up. There’s a little jolt of fear in Noct’s belly that Prompto will realize _none_ of this makes sense, and that the dream will all come toppling down. It’s hard to get out of them, when that happens, and it’s exhausting.

 

Instead, Prompto’s expression smooths out though. “Is it really that time of year already? Is that why you’re getting sappy with me today?”

 

“Aren’t I sappy every day?” Noctis shoots back. Prompto laughs, and pushes Noctis back down again, and they roll around in the waves, getting wet and messy and sloppy. Their kisses taste like salt water and seaweed and it’s really _not_ that romantic, but they’re dumb incubi in love, living in a dream and so none of the bad parts exist. It’s all good.

 

\---

 

Their clothes dry out and the sand is wiped away, in a little, nice bit of dream magic, when they finally wander back along the beach again. It’s a long, beautiful stretch, and Noct’s a little bit proud of the world he’s weaved. Prompto points out little seashells dotting the shoreline, washed in by a tide that doesn’t really exist. Their fingers are tangled, and their hands swing at their sides, their hips bumping.

 

“So, what do you want to do on your birthday?” Noctis asks, as they make their way away from the shoreline, up over dunes of hot, bright sand. The sky is a bright blue, and the sun’s coming down, though it’s not terribly hot. The weather, overall, is mild. It’s a nice change, for once.

 

Prompto doesn’t answer right away. He tips his head to the side, thoughtfully, and there’s a slow flush spreading over his freckled cheeks. “… honestly, you’re always better at making these days special. If it was up to me, I’d probably ignore it.”

 

The confession is hard for Prompto, though it’s not much of a confession. Noctis already _knows_ that.

 

“You can’t give me free reign over the day and then yell at me for being soft, you know,” Noctis replies. He doesn’t point out the obvious, that he’s already done a _lot_ for Prompto’s birthday. Being here goes against everything he stands for, and it’s messing pretty heavily with some realities. If Noct fucks up, or gets too exhausted, he can get lost, and then they both die.

 

That part doesn’t need to be said, though.

 

“Sure I can,” Prompto laughs, “that’s part of being imprinted, right? I get to make fun of you as much as I want.”

 

Noctis blinks. He hadn’t really conjured up any particular point in their relationship when he’d dreamed this world into existence. The physical part of it, yeah. He’d remembered the sea, pieced together old memories of it. There’s this stretch of beach, and when it ends, there’s a path that twists and turns and becomes flower-filled meadows. There’s a vague plan, but the version of Prompto’s he ended with? That’s all on Prompto’s end. That’s all the other daemon’s perception, his subconscious filling in the blanks.

 

It feels like he’s reached the _real_ Prompto, though, and Noctis can’t describe that feeling. It’s a bit of elation, and a bit of terror, at the fact that they’re so closely linked. It makes him feel that strange hollowness in his chest again, except filled in, so it’s not quite as rough. It’s like there’s the foundation of their link still there, just waiting to be rebuilt. It shouldn’t make Noct so optimistic, but it does.

 

“Guess you’re right. I’m stuck with you,” Noctis teases, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, his expression shifts, into something more serious. “… Prom. You know there’s nowhere else I wanna be, right?”

 

Prompto opens his mouth, probably to point out how _increasingly_ cheesy Noct keeps getting, but he doesn’t say it. He simply leans in, and he presses a kiss right into Noct’s horn. Prompto doesn’t touch him there that often anyway, and the memory of those weeks when he’d been so self-conscious of their horns, of those changing colours, it’s still fresh in Noct’s mind. It feels nice, a soft press of lips that makes Noctis shudder, and there’s a certain intimacy to the moment, something that doesn’t need to be said.

 

“I know, Noct,” Prompto replies, quietly. “…. Honestly? I just wanna spend the day with you. This day might be my first memory, but… I wasn’t _me_ till I met you.”

 

Noctis can’t hold back the smile that flickers across his face. “If we’re getting honest with each other, I wasn’t me until I met you, either.”

 

\---

 

Time doesn’t work quite the same way in dreams, and Noct figured that out pretty fast. He doesn’t know if it’s minutes or hours that they spend ambling up over the beach. Eventually, the sand turns to tangled, tall green grass, mixing with the sand dunes. There’s a set of stairs that leads up off the beach, into the rolling green hills behind. Noct’s proud that he’s built a world like this, honestly. The sun’s fully risen in the sky, and that should maybe be an indication of time passing, but nothing _works_ entirely right here, anyway.

 

“I swear, I’ve seen this place before,” Prompto says, quietly.

 

They make their way along the path. The green grass gives way to great, rolling fields, and there’s flowers everywhere. Noct’s pleased with _that,_ too. He likes to think he knows Prompto. They’re stupid and domestic, yeah, but they like to watch nature documentaries and Prompto has a strange fascination with plants and trees. Most birthdays, Noct brings Prompto huge bouquets of sunflowers, and even though Prompto grumbles about it, Noct doesn’t miss the subtle light that shines in Prompto’s eyes.

 

He’s done better this year. He can’t give him bouquets of flowers, but he can bring the flowers to Prompto.

 

“We’ve been to the botanical gardens before,” Noctis teases, nudging into Prompto. There’s one in the city, and they’ve had absolutely stupid, domestic adventures there before. They’ve been to _all_ the major landmarks; it just kinda happens over time when you’re damn near immortal.

 

“Yeah, like _this_ is anything like that,” Prompto rolls his eyes. Noct’s a little concerned that the truth is on the tip of Prompto’s tongue, that he’ll figure it all out. It’d suck, for a dream to be ruined, and on Prompto’s birthday at that. They’re in a strange place though, a _good_ one, but… strange.

 

Everything about their lives is strange though, honestly. Noctis just needs to let it go.

 

“Kinda like it. C’mon. It’s your birthday, just shut up and enjoy it,” Noctis points out, and he tugs Prompto’s hand. Prompto sighs, and lets Noct lead the way, but he’s totally failing at pretending he’s not enjoying this. He’s absolutely a sucker for this.

 

It’s funny, too, how Noct’s subconscious picks up on certain details, and even though he didn’t explicitly create things with that in mind, it just so happens that there’s tangles of sunflowers lining the edge of the field. It’s Prompto’s favourite, though whether it’s because he actually loves those flowers most, or because Noct keeps buying them is questionable. It’s just another detail that doesn’t matter.

 

“My birthday, and you’re telling _me_ to shut up?” Prompto laughs, and gives Noct a playful little shove. There’s the urge to roll around in the flowers and to be stupid idiots again, but instead, Noct reaches out, plucking a few sunflowers from their stalks.

 

“Probably shouldn’t tease too much. Don’t want a storm to ruin our nice day, huh?” Noct grins.

 

“ _Noct!_ Low blow!” Prompto grumbles. “Totally gonna rain on you now!”

 

Noct’s pretty sure he’s safe, anyway. He doesn’t think Prompto’s powers can affect the weather here.

 

“Make sure it’s a romantic rain,” Noct’s in a ridiculously good mood. The more time he spends here, the easier it gets to let himself get a little lost, to pretend that it’s _not_ just a dream. Prompto’s acting so carefree and casual here, too. It’s reminiscent of how Noctis wishes things could be, without all the insecurities and the troubles that seem to plague them constantly.

 

“Nope,” Prompto laughs, “gonna be a thunderstorm.”

 

Noctis doesn’t reply. He leans in, instead. He’s got that silly little bouquet of sunflowers, and his fingers are deft, reaching out and carefully wrapping the stalks around Prompto’s horns. Prompto’s sensitive as ever, and he gasps a little when Noctis weaves the flowers in, curling the stems together, until they’re all wound around, standing out stark against the splash of colour, and the bright blonde spikes of his hair.

 

“Happy Birthday,” Noctis says, quite seriously, as he tips his head to the side to look Prompto over. Prompto’s eyes are brimming with a strange emotion, and he’s smiling, something shyer and more reserved than usual. It’s a good look, Noct decides.

 

“Idiot,” Prompto replies, but he’s lifting a hand, gently stroking over the soft, vibrant yellow petals. Noct lifts a hand, covering it over Prompto’s, thumbing over the petals, and they’re soft and velvety.

 

“My idiot, though,” Noct says.

 

“Sappy,” Prompto replies, with a laugh, but then, in a lower voice, he agrees. “Yeah. Yours.”

 

\---

 

It’s nice, the way they can act out all the things they can’t normally get away with in the real world. When it comes down to it, in reality, they’re incubi. They’re a little chaotic by nature, even if they’re domesticated, with a home and a pet and friends. They don’t go on stupid dates, walking along the beach. They don’t walk through silly flowery fields, either. Prompto plucked a few purple and pink wildflowers together as they’d walked through the field, stringing them into a necklace and wrapping it around Noct’s neck.

 

They certainly don’t have dumb little picnics waiting for them either, at the edge of the field, on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Noct has to admit – it turned out pretty decent. He doesn’t think he’s good at the romance thing at all. It’s not in his nature, and he’s lazy and spoiled and prefers to lounge on the couch and watch television. Hell, this whole thing had probably come from some stupid mortal dating show or another.

 

“You’re the worst,” Prompto laughs when Noct leads the way.

 

“Totally. You love it,” Noctis agrees. He wishes he’d had the foresight to grab a blindfold, so he could keep this a total surprise. “Cover your eyes,” he adds, in a sudden burst of inspiration as he tugs Prompto along the path. Prompto rolls his eyes, but he obeys, lifting an arm up over his face.

 

If they’re incubi, should their idea of a birthday dinner be a really hot orgy eating human souls? Probably. Instead, of course, Noct’s conjured up a giant cake. He’s _absolutely_ mastered the birthday thing after all this time.

 

“Okay,” Noct says finally, as he tugs Prompto into the clearing along the side of a sheer cliff, overlooking the ocean. There’s a blanket laid out, scattered with rose petals, and an ice cream cake that hasn’t melted at all in the warm sun—privilege, of course, of it all being a dream. It _does_ have its perks.

 

“You can look.”

 

“Cake?” Prompto blinks, as he lowers his arm, and looks at the scene. “… fuck. Noct. You did this for _me?”_

 

In the end, Noctis always wins Prompto over. Birthdays are always like this, with Prompto reluctantly letting himself be tagged along. Sure, they don’t usually involve dream worlds, but the little affections are always there. Noct’s hopelessly in love with the other incubus, and he’s given up on denying it.

 

“All for you,” Noct grins. Prompto leans in to steal a kiss, and Noct indulges him, hot presses of lips, arms curling around his waist, before he tugs him a little more, getting them settled down on the blanket.

 

They settle in a warm heap, Noctis seated, with Prompto lying on his back, his face in Noct’s lap. Noct’s fingers trace over his horns, along the flowers still strung through them, down to brush hair out of his face. The sun shines down, warm and happy, and it makes Prompto’s freckles stand out against skin that’s a little more sun-kissed than usual.

 

“You still wanna make it rain?” Noct teases, slipping his hand down, palm pressed into Prompto’s cheek, fingers splayed out over his skin.

 

Prompto doesn’t reply at first. He tips his head to the side, nuzzling into Noct’s palm, pressing soft-wet kisses in. “Nah,” he mumbles, after a moment. “Think it’s kinda nice… just having sun for once.”

 

“It is,” Noctis agrees. He wishes that every day could be like this. It’d be _so_ easy to stay here, after all. Too fucking easy. He strokes his fingers over freckles, tracing down over Prompto’s lips, along the curve of his jaw. Prompto’s skin is soft, warmed by the sun, and it’s so _familiar,_ even here, in a place that doesn’t exist. Whatever version Noct’s conjured up here—he’s convinced _this_ is the real version of Prompto.

 

“I’d love to stay like this,” Prompto mumbles, as he slowly sits up, after a moment, “but I _totally_ want that cake. Is it _ice cream?”_

“Yep,” Noctis, of course, has a total weakness for ice cream, and it’s one that Prompto’s picked up on, too. Honestly, he didn’t intend for _this_ specific detail to work in, either, but his subconscious really knows how to plan a good birthday party, apparently.

 

The cake in question is layers of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, with fudge and cookies, and a thick layer of icing on top. It’s complete with a giant picture of a malboro, drawn in swirls of thick, sugary green icing, and complete with a bow. _That_ takes Noct a little by surprise, too – he supposes that’s Squishy’s way of sending his birthday greetings.

 

“I wish Squish was here,” Prompto says, quietly, as they cut into the cake, and apparently his thoughts are on a similar vein. “… he’s gonna be super happy when we’re home, huh?”

 

“I’m sure he’s perfectly happy terrorizing Luna and Nyx,” Noctis replies, and that familiar heat of guilt is spreading through his belly again. Prompto reaches down and swipes a finger through the icing though, and Noct squints when he smears it messy across his cheek. It makes him laugh though, especially when Prompto smears another dollop of icing right over his nose, and he pushes it all aside.

 

They actually, somehow, manage to eat some of the cake, before Prompto starts swiping his fingers through the now-melting mess and makes a _very_ pointed show of giving Noctis a look as he laps the sweet mess from his fingers. His tongue curls around the sticky, wet digits, lapping away the bits of melted cream, and Prompto’s absolutely teasing now.

 

“That’s just mean,” Noct points out, as he sets aside his own half-eaten ice cream, and that’s the only warning Prompto gets, before Noct _pounces._ Prompto’s plate goes flying, ice cream spilling everywhere, all over the blanket and the grass, but neither of them are paying attention to that. Noct’s attention is entirely on Prompto, who falls backwards onto the blanket again. Noct’s on top, and his face presses into Prompto’s neck, kissing and licking and teasing.

 

_“Noct,”_ Prompto says, in a voice that’s surprisingly needy, low and affectionate, and it goes right through Noctis. Any of the former, guilty heat is replaced with arousal, spreading fire through his veins.

 

“It’s your birthday,” Noctis mumbles, through hot kisses working down Prompto’s neck. A knee slips between Prompto’s thighs, parting them, pressing in teasingly against his growing erection. Prompto _sighs,_ and Noct’s satisfied by the sound, and damn determined to draw more out. “How do you want it?”

 

Prompto shudders, and Noct’s not sure if it’s from the words, and all their heavy implications, or the friction against his hardening cock. His arms curl around Noct’s neck, and his fingers tangle in his hair. “... you’re never gonna let me live this down,” Prompto mumbles.

 

“Probably not,” Noctis agrees, and Prompto’s fingers are tugging at his head, pushing him down, so he lets Prompto guide him. His lips work down to the collar of his shirt, tongue tracing over skin that tastes like Prompto, with a hint of seasalt. “Tell me anyway.”

 

Prompto sighs, and he lifts up, his back arching just a little, so Noct can get his shirt off. “… just. Be soft?”

 

Noct’s laughter is muffled by his lips working down Prompto’s chest, tongue curling around a nipple and teasing, before he chases defined planes of muscle further.

 

“You’re right,” Noct agrees, his breath hot against Prompto’s ribs, as he works down further, “I’m _never_ letting you live that down.”

 

“Fuck off, Noct—” Prompto tries to say, the words interrupted with a sudden burst of laughter as Noct’s lips dip lower. Prompto’s not usually very ticklish. Noct knows a couple of spots where he can elicit a few giggles, when he tries. Apparently Prompto, in a euphoric, dream-induced state, however, is somewhat more ticklish. He’s giggling and arching his back, his fingers scrabbling through Noct’s hair, and Prompto seems somewhat torn between pulling him closer and pushing his face away.

 

Noct’s on a mission though. He gets Prompto pinned down, his hair tickling over his belly, tongue tracing his abs. His lips trail feather-light over Prompto’s belly and he _yelps,_ twisting and curling up and trying to yank Noct away. Noct’s laughing though, and the hot burst of air over Prompto’s belly just makes it worse. Prompto giggles and tries to kick Noctis away, but Noct’s faster – for once – and his hands grip at Prompto’s hips, holding him still, as his tongue traces along the curve of his hip, teasing piercings and tugging at them, and even _that_ elicits another round of frantic giggles.

 

“ _Noct!”_ Prompto laughs as Noctis nips and teases his way along the band of Prompto’s pants. Noct pulls away, offering up some release as he works lower, nuzzling his face into the bulge in Prompto’s pants. He’s fully hard – fuck, they really _do_ just get off on each other at this point – and Prompto’s gasps turn heated again.

 

“What, you want me to stop?” Noctis teases, and he knows the response with how Prompto’s hips jerk up.

 

“Better not!” Prompto groans. Noctis responds with one hell of a wicked smirk, and his hands are deft when they get Prompto’s pants off. There’s that same thought there always sneaks in, about _really,_ properly going slow, worshipful and intense. It’s one of those increasingly mortal, human thoughts, of course. And, in the end, Prompto’s impatience wins out, because he’s immediately reaching down, curling a hand around his erection as it’s freed.

 

“Fine,” Noctis laughs. He draws back, and he puts on a bit of a show, tugging his shirt off, stretching his arms over his head and revealing toned, flexing muscle. The pants come next, and maybe he should be putting on more of a display there, too, but Prompto’s lifted himself up onto his elbows, and there’s a flush spreading across his cheeks and over his shoulders and his tail’s twitching impatiently, like some great, playful cat. They are _totally_ wearing off on each other.

 

Prompto sighs, when Noct crawls back over him, and his thighs spread a little, inviting, but Noct’s got something different in mind. It’s Prompto’s birthday, after all.  His hands shift, resting heavily against Prompto’s chest, and they _both_ sigh when Noct shifts, straddling Prompto’s hips. Noct’s cock is heavy against his belly, throbbing and eager, and he slides back against the delicious curve of Prompto’s erection, feeling it nudge along the cleft of his ass.

 

“Fuck, Noct,” Prompto groans, and his hips jerk up, involuntary, leaving a little smear of wetness over Noct’s skin.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, laughing, and he lifts up onto his knees, a hand reaching back, positioning the head of Prompto’s cock, and then he’s sliding down, taking him in, and they _both_ gasp. They haven’t been doing it this way; Prompto’s always terrified he’ll lose control, and Noctis, in a way, is as well. Here though? Where Prompto’s smiles, and the sun is shining and bright? It’s perfect.

 

“I trust you,” Noctis mumbles, his voice low, as he rocks his hips down slow and steady, grinding in circular motions, gasping out his pleasure at the feeling of Prompto full and pulsing inside of him. It’s been too fucking long, and Noct’s _missed_ this, the strange sense of completion that comes with the act. Yeah, he’s been fucked by mortals, but it’s _not_ the same.

 

Prompto doesn’t respond, but their eyes lock, and his hands lift to Noct’s hips. Prompto’s fingers grip in, a silent permission, and Noctis picks up the pace. It feels amazing, the steady rock of friction working into him, pressing in the places that have Noct gasping and moaning. It’s even more intense, too – it’s been a long time, and maybe it’s the dream, but it’s all heightened. Every single detail of Prompto beneath him is burned into Noct’s memory, the thin sheen of sweat pricking over his skin, the heave of his chest, the flush that’s spreading, the desperate, needy look in his eyes.

 

It’s too fucking much, and Noctis wants it to last, but it never does, especially here.

 

Prompto’s hand curls around Noct’s cock, jerking him in fast, smooth strikes, in time with the rocking of his hips. He’s buried deep inside, splitting Noct open, and when Noctis rolls his hips back, he sees stars, exploding over the blue sky backdrop surrounding them, the delicious burst of pleasure against his prostate sending him soaring.

 

“Prom, fuck, I love you, _fuck,”_ Noct’s saying, vaguely, when he explodes over Prompto’s fingers. His hips stutter and still through his orgasm, but Prompto’s shifting, gripping again with sticky fingers, and tugging him over his cock in rough motions, until his head’s tossing back and his back’s snapping up off the ground. Prompto follows him into oblivion, and Noct doesn’t bother to lift away, simply keeps Prompto inside of him, wet and pulsing, as he collapses down on his chest. And, through it all, through the shift of energy, the drain that’s tugging at Noct’s chest, it’s the familiar one, and none of the terrifying too-far from before.

 

They come down together, breathing heavily, panting and stealing kisses. Prompto’s still got the flowers in his hair and tangled around his horns. Noct’s flower necklace was tossed aside in the sex frenzy, but he reaches blindly for it, laughing a little as he twists and turns it around Prompto’s wrist.

 

“I wish we could stay,” Prompto says, quietly, after several moments of silence. It breaks the strange, eerie peace that’s fallen over the scene. Really, it’s too perfect to be real, and it _is_ too perfect to be real. The sky is perfect and blue and cloudless, and it meets the sea in the horizon, creating a hazy line of deeper blue and slow, lazy waves. Their bodies are all caught up in each other, a warm, sweaty tangle of limbs and flowers.

 

Noctis blinks. _Stay?_ He’s not sure what context Prompto means, here. It’s a dream, and they can’t stay here.

 

“Me too,” Noctis simply settles with saying. That seems like a safe response. There’s another pause, another heavy silence between them.

 

“I needed this,” Prompto continues, his voice so low, Noct’s not sure he’s hearing the words. He might be imagining them. “I… I’m sorry, Noct, for _everything,_ I just want to come back to you—”

 

The words, though, are followed by a sudden, harsh breeze, interrupting the moment. Noct lifts his head, tries to glance around, but there’s suddenly a massive surge of water in the distance, a tsunami building up, towering high over, about to crash—

 

\---

 

Noctis opens his eyes, and he’s lying in bed. Prompto’s next to him. There’s soft, early evening light filtering in; the sun’s about to set. Noct’s been out all damn day.

 

Noctis sits up, and everything hurts, as it always does. His head’s pounding, and he feels weak. He looks around, and next to the bed, there’s a giant vase of sunflowers, ones that Luna probably left there.

 

Prompto’s stirring in his sleep, but his eyes are closed. He’s dreaming, that much is obvious, his expression furrowing, tightening and twitching, then softening into something _almost_ relaxed.

 

“Happy birthday,” Noct says, quietly, lifting a hand to stroke over Prompto’s cheek, delicately smoothing the hair down around the hole where his horn is missing. Noct’s fingers twitch, and the urge to recoil is strong. He loves Prompto, but he _hates_ that horrible wound, and everything it stands for.

 

Prompto stirs a little, under the touch, and Noct’s fingers freeze, staying pressed close. He brushes the back of his knuckles over a freckled cheek, slow and steady, and Prompto twitches and makes a quiet sound.

 

Noct’s breath catches in his throat. There’s a sudden euphoria rising in him, one that’s absolutely dangerous. It would make sense, that Prompto would come back to him today. That connection is still missing, an empty hollow in Noct’s chest where it used to live, warm and comforting. But he’d felt _something_ in that dream, he’d been all but begging Prompto to wake up, and just _maybe—_

Prompto’s features shift again, and his brow furrows. He groans and twists in bed a little and then, _miraculously,_ he’s blinking his eyes open. They’re bleary, heavy with his long sleep, and unfocused.

 

“Prom,” Noct says, and there’s an urgency in his voice, as he leans over, as he gets a glimpse at Prompto.

 

“N-Noct?” Prompto’s voice is slow, unsteady, and then, _suddenly,_ it’s hitching, like there’s a well of panic in him. Their eyes meet, and Prompto’s eyes, swirling with color, suddenly go intense and frenzied, and Noct realizes there’s sheer _terror_ in them.

 

“Prom, hey, what’s wrong? I’m _here,_ you’re awake—” Noctis tries to say, but Prompto’s desperately reaching for the blankets, trying to scurry backwards, away, but his limbs aren’t cooperating, he’s flailing and scrabbling for purchase, eyes welling up bright with terrified tears. One of Prompto’s arms flails, and he hits the vase of sunflowers that’s been left on the table. The vase wobbles and topples over, landing with a harsh _crack,_ the glass shattering, water and broken flowers flying everywhere, the petals bruising as they land in a crumpled heap.

 

“Go the fuck away, Noct, I can’t, _your eyes,_ I’m sorry—” Prompto gasps, and then, outright, suddenly, there’s a crash of lightning and roil of thunder, and the rain starts, harsh and heavy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I will be sorry. <3  
> also i'm behind on replying to reviews, as always, cuz writing a fic a day kills my soul, but thank you, i read them all and i thrive on your feedback/tears. <3  
> you know where to find us! we'll see you again soon~


	27. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is long and hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26!   
> There isn't much smut today - it's mostly plot-driven. That just... happens, coming in at the end of the month!   
> [Art for the day!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/923732664317747200)

Prompto’s head is throbbing and his mind is tripping over itself. Nothing’s working right. His body doesn’t _need_ air to survive, but someone should try telling it that, because he’s in full blown panic mode. His chest is heaving in great, gulping gasps, and he can’t get in air fast enough to make things work. His limbs are heavy, and unwieldy, and they just _aren’t_ working right. He’s trying to frantically scramble back, away from Noctis, and Prompto doesn’t even know _why._

He _knows_ Noctis.

 

Prompto fucking loves Noctis, more than anything in this entire goddamn universe. That’s something he knows, wholly and unequivocally. But when Noct _looks_ at him, when their eyes burn together, when he sees those vibrant swirls of amber and gold, the response is instantly. It’s a heavy, cold hand reaching into him and squeezing his heart, it’s a thick jolt of fear down his spine that Prompto can’t shake off. Even if logically, he _knows_ he’s being silly, he can’t fucking tell his mind that.

 

“Prom?” Noctis is saying, in the kindest voice he can muster up, but Prompto can hear the hint of fear there, too. If Prompto could just close his eyes, if he could just _ignore_ that Noct’s eyes are setting off some deep-seated, primal fear in him, maybe—

 

But it’s too late, and when Prompto closes his eyes, he simply sees Noct’s eyes, burned into his mind, and he’s _terrified._ It’s irrational, and he knows it’s dumb, but he can’t get the feelings away. He feels like he’s going to pass out. He can’t breathe, and his fingers are shaking, and his whole body is clammy.

 

“ _Go,”_ Prompto whimpers, and the word comes out frantic, in a heavy gulp of air forced through a heaving chest. His eyes are scrunched shut, and he can’t think about anything except terrifying eyes on his, and _pain,_ so much fucking pain. Those eyes had brought him pain, and it couldn’t have been Noctis, there’s no _way,_ Noctis loves him—but Prompto’s never had a good grasp on his emotions, and the trauma is too thick to be reasonable.

 

Noctis hesitates, and a hand brushes feather light over Prompto’s shoulder.

 

Prompto can’t help it; he whimpers and recoils, shuddering violently. He _wants_ to beg Noctis for comfort, to be held in his arms, but he _can’t,_ because he’s so scared of Noct, on such an instinctive level, that it’s impossible.

 

“Noctis—go, please, I can’t—” Prompto manages, the words breaking with a quiet sob. He can’t do this. He wants to go back to sleep. He’d been asleep, hadn’t he?

 

“I…” Noctis trails off, and he sounds torn between defeat and panic. “I’ll get Luna. She can help.” The bed shifts, and Noct’s footsteps rapidly retreat, and it’s only when the bedroom door closes that Prompto can breathe again. His chest is still heavy, and everything still _hurts,_ but Noct’s gone, those _eyes_ are gone, and he feels… safer. Not safe, someone had what—tried to kill him? Again? Prompto’s not sure. He curls up in bed, and everything hurts, and his head is throbbing, and he wants Noct to hold him and tell him it’s going to be okay, but he can’t have _that_ either.

 

Prompto hates himself for feeling this way.

 

\---

 

Luna calms his mood, a little, but Prompto still feels like he’s on the edge of barely concealed panic and despair. He _hates_ this. At least he can _look_ at Luna. He can touch her, too. Nyx stays with Noctis, and Prompto hates that he has to ask Luna to keep Noct away from him, “it’s not his fault, I just can’t…” he mumbles with a thick voice, and Luna nods, understanding as always. She’s _too_ understanding.

 

Prompto’s starting to realize the gravity of the situation. Everything just _hurts._

 

He’s been in pain before. Those ugly daemon wounds that Noctis had licked clean, they had hurt while they’d stitched back together. That awful tentacle experience? That had hurt, too. This pain though? It’s fucking unreal. It’s a thick, full-bodied throbbing, centered in his head, and spreading through him like pulsing veins. Everything hurts, even the tips of his fingers. Nothing seems to help, either. Luna’s touch is cool, and it calms his emotions a little – the violent storm outside subsides a little in her presence – but it does nothing to chase the pain away.

 

“… how long?” Prompto chokes out, when he wakes from another fitful, feverish dream. The dreams are confusing. He vaguely, far-off, remembers dreams of Noctis, from before he’d woken. There’s memories of sunflowers and oceans, and reliving bits and pieces of their lives. Reality slides back into place. The bed next to him is empty. Squish’s a warm weight, curled around his neck, and Luna’s sitting at Prompto’s side, her cool hand curled around his clammy, burning fingers. Goddamnit, even his fucking fingertips hurt. It isn’t fair.

 

“You’ve been out for another couple of days,” Luna says, quietly.

 

“… days?” Prompto sighs. He doesn’t _remember_ much of anything. All he remembers is _eyes,_ and they make him think of Noctis, and the panic swells up again. There’s another rush of heat all through him, feverish, overwhelming, and Prompto’s head is suddenly spinning. He feels like he’s going to vomit, or pass out, or probably _both._

 

Outside, the weather’s cool and grey, but otherwise it’s still, and Prompto realizes, through the sudden, mad rush of panic, that nothing’s _happening._

 

“… not raining?” he asks Luna, and he wishes that he could piece together a damn sentence, but Prompto’s all swept up in panic, because he _needs_ Noctis here, he’s hungry, he needs Noct’s warm, solid presence, he needs to feel Noctis, but he _can’t,_ because of that goddamn irrational fear.

 

Luna squeezes Prompto’s hand, and the gentle contact brings him down a little, evens out a bit of the heaviness working through him. “Your powers are connected to your horns. With one missing, they’re all out of balance. Sometimes they work, sometimes they… _don’t.”_

 

Prompto winces, and he tries to tip his head, to bury his face into the pillow. Luna had told him the severity of the injuries, of course, but he’s been trying to push that aside. His free hand, the one not tangled with Luna’s, reaches, and Prompto _winces,_ outright gasping and shuddering down into the blankets, when his fingers trace over the gouge in the side of his head. There used to be the thick spiral of his horn there, and now it’s simply _nothing._ The wound is fucking sensitive, too, and a rush of pain, a tingle of something _else,_ raw and intense, cracks down the side of his face.

 

“Don’t touch it,” Luna’s voice is stern, but there’s sympathy, and she must be understanding of how _horrible_ it hurts. It’s like poking a raw, open nerve, and Prompto’s head feels like It’s exploding, just from that one light brush of fingers.

 

“… how long?” Prompto asks, again, and it’s a different question this time.

 

Luna sighs. “… we don’t know, Prompto. Horns, they… can take a long time to recover.”

 

Prompto whimpers, and he pulls his hand away from Luna’s, turning onto his side and curling up, weakly, into a little ball. He _hates_ this. He wants to be better.

 

It’s stupid—Prompto had been so goddamn self-conscious of the horns. He’d been terrified of what it meant, of being _different._ His colours are unique, and it’s terrifying. He wants to be a normal incubus. Noct’s horns are the right colours. So are Luna’s, Nyx’s, Ignis, Gladio’s… _everyone’s._ Before, Prompto would’ve loved to cut his own damn horns off and throw them away.

 

Now? With one missing? He feels empty.

 

That place in his heart where Noct’s presence had lived, warm and reassuring? That’s gone, too. That’s the most terrifying part, and Prompto wants to _talk_ to Noct about it, but he’s scared. Is it gone because of the horn? Or is it because he’s rejected Noctis so thoroughly here. Prompto, of course, he doesn’t _want_ to be pushing Noct away—he’s just confused, lost, and he has no idea how to make it better. It’s all sorts of fucked up.

 

Prompto wants his horns back. Fuck, even that line of purple, he wants that, too. He wants that feeling of being complete, of not being alone, of Noct’s goddamn _love_ living within him again. They’d imprinted, and Prompto hadn’t understood. He’d been terrified of what that meant, and he’d half-wished it never happened, and now? This is some sort of sick, cruel revenge. This is him taking Noctis for granted.

 

Prompto closes his eyes, though, and he still just sees Noct’s _eyes,_ and his body’s breaking into a horrible cold sweat again. He’s miserable, and he wants his _horn_ back, damnit, and that warm happy feeling where Noct’s presence settled against his ribs. He wants Noctis, too. Fuck.

 

“… I’m hungry,” Prompto finds himself whispering, and he’s miserable about that, too. There’s no fucking way he can crawl out of bed. He can barely even find the energy to roll over, after all, and the effort of being awake is leaving him all drained and exhausted. This sucks. He has no idea how he’s going to eat, and the idea of Noctis over him, of Noct inside him—

 

But he’s _starving._

“Noct’s been going into your dreams,” Luna says, slowly, and Prompto gets the distinct feeling that she didn’t want to be the person to tell him that. “It was the only way for you to feed, while you were asleep.”

 

Prompto thinks that he maybe already knew that. He’s not sure _how,_ he had no idea Noctis could even _do_ that. Is that a common incubus thing, because Prompto sure as hell can’t enter people’s dreams? It’s another way he’s different, and if his energy wasn’t already fully focused on being miserable and tired and suffering, he’d be upset that he’s found yet another way that he isn’t the same.

 

The dreams though—they’re like foggy, far off memories, and maybe he should feel what? Violated? But… it’s warm. It’s a flicker of old happiness, one that’s unaffected by the trauma and the horror that he’s associating with Noctis.

 

“… tell him he can keep doing that, then,” Prompto sighs. His dreams might be safe. And if they’re not? Well, fuck, he needs to _eat._ Maybe he’d be better off dead, and then the pain would fucking stop, but—no. Prompto can’t think that way. He closes his eyes, and he shudders through the pain and the fear, and he tells himself, as solidly as he can, that things _will_ get better. Squish curls tighter around his neck, and Prompto draws reassurance from the malboro.

 

“You should tell him yourself,” Luna tries to say, as gently as possible, but Prompto’s shaking his head.

 

“… you tell him, Luna. I—I _can’t…”_

 

Luna doesn’t reply, but she reaches a hand, and places it on Prompto’s shoulder. It’s soft and comforting and cool, and for just a moment, he feels a little better. Then, the fever and the heat’s turning Prompto’s vision red around the edges again. He dreams of vases of sunflowers shattering across the floor, and of horribly, amber eyes hunting him down. At some point, his dream shifts, and it’s _Noctis,_ and it’s a little better, for a little while, but it’s not real. And now? There’s no hiding in dreams, for either of them.

 

It doesn’t matter though, because Prompto’s wearing a stupid corset. He’s got nothing else. There were garters, at the beginning of the dream, but Noct had snapped them against his thighs, and they’d been pulled off and disgarded, and now he’s naked from the waist down. His cock’s thick and heavy, and the tight constriction of the corset feels good against his skin. It makes Prompto feel like he’s got _control_ over something. He’s in front of the damn mirror, and the blanket covering it is gone. Prompto knows he’s dreaming. It’s almost better that he knows, he realizes.

 

Noct’s fingers are reverent, as they start to work on the ribbon that’s crisscrossed, tying the back of the corset. Prompto turns in his lap, though, and he swats Noct’s hand away.

 

“No,” Prompto says, “leave it.”

 

Noct’s fingers twitch and hesitate, and he tries to smile, but it comes out a smirk, instead. They’re both getting lost in this. They’re both pretending that they don’t _know,_ and it’s better like this.

 

“You wanna ride me dressed like a whore, then?” Noctis asks. The words are harsh, and they’re totally out of place, and it’s perfect.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees. He cranes his head, tipping his head to watch himself in the mirror, to watch as he rocks his hips. Noct’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and Prompto’s facing him, straddling his lap. When he looks back at the mirror, though, he can see the head of Noct’s cock as his length slides along the cleft of his ass. Noct’s hands shift to his hips, and Prompto sighs.

 

He lifts up, and when he slides back down on Noct’s cock, taking him in, they both sigh. Prompto’s hands settle on Noct’s shoulders, and his neck feels stiff as he watches himself over his shoulder. There’s something so goddamn appealing. In his dream? Noct’s eyes aren’t quite as vibrant, aren’t so intense. Prompto distracts himself here, watching as the rim of his ass is stretched wide, as he swallows up Noct’s cock as he rocks his hips, lifting up a little, sinking back down until Noct’s bottomed out. It’s _good,_ it feels amazing, being stuffed full, in a world that’s not real, in a world where he’s not scared.

 

Prompto looks good here, too. He’s got his horns. He’s got the stripe of purple, but he still can’t _feel_ Noctis—but he can ignore that, with the colour. He’s ignoring a lot of details, focusing on the delicious, emphasized curve of his waist and his hips, with the corset on. He’s focusing on the way his ass greedily takes in Noct, the way his thighs are quaking with the effort of riding him, intense and hard.

 

Prompto’s so enthralled by the sight, he barely even realizes he’s coming, until the pleasure washes over him. His mess spreads between their bellies, soaking into the corset, ruining the fine fabric, and Noct follows suit, wet and messy, buried deep inside. Noct bites down on Prompto’s clavicle, hard, and the pain is _good,_ it’s a controllable pain, it’s nothing like the one that’s plaguing him every waking moment.

 

The swirl of energy, too, Prompto drinks it in, greedily. He _needs_ it, his body is exhausted, and recovery takes so much out of him, and he’s so goddamn hungry. It’s never truly satisfying, though, because even when they’re like this, asleep, dreaming, that space exists between them that never did before.

 

And Prompto knows, deep down, that he’s stills cared.

 

Noct’s fingers grip hard at Prompto’s hip, and as he bites and kisses into his skin, through both of them riding out their orgasms, Prompto swears he feels the salty, bitter heat of tears.

 

There’s no hiding in dreams, for either of them.

 

\---

 

Prompto doesn’t know how long it’s been. He has no fucking clue. He simply _exists._ Time is always a tricky subject when you’re an incubus, and when you’re a bed-ridden one? It’s absolutely futile to try and track it. He sleeps a lot.

 

A couple of times, he wakes up with Noctis still curled around him, an arm wrapped tight around his waist. The first time, Prompto flinches back and recoils so hard that Noctis jerks awake, and he mumbles a few “fuck, I’m _sorry,_ I lost track of time—” and Prompto hates how he whimpers back a responding, “I’m _sorry,_ I can’t help it,” as Noctis scrambles out of bed.

 

The second time it happens, Prompto fucking hates himself, because he hears the heavy sound of Noct’s body sliding down the other side of the bedroom door, and he hears the quiet, muffled sobs. He vaguely hears Nyx and Luna speaking to him, too, telling him ‘it’ll just take time,’ but time is… well, it’s a meaningless word, at this point. Everything is taking _time,_ and nobody knows how much.

 

The third time Prompto wakes up with Noct’s breath hot against his neck, his face pressed into his skin, he’s fucking proud of himself, because he doesn’t immediately jerk away. The fear is there, hot in Prompto’s belly, rolling and making him feel like he’s going to _die_ if he doesn’t get away. But, Squish is curled up warm against his belly, and Prompto carefully slides a hand down, tangling his fingers in the malboro’s tentacles.

 

It’s not _Noctis_ he’s scared of, Prompto tries to tell himself. It’s _not_ Noctis. The eyes that are chasing him in his dreams? They just _look_ like Noct’s, but they’re different. Noctis looks at him with such love and reverence and, lately, so much sorrow. The other eyes, they were cruel and amused, like Prompto’s a damn plaything.

 

Slowly, carefully, Prompto snuggles back, just a little, pressing his back flush against Noct’s belly. Noct’s a solid, warm weight, and when he keeps his eyes closed, when Prompto focuses really hard on ‘it’s not Noct’s eyes,’ the panic subsides, just a little. It’s still there. Fuck, it’s still heavily present. But the panic isn’t making it impossible to breathe. It’s harder, and his chest hurts, and his head throbs, but he can _live_ like this.

 

“Prom?” Noct’s voice is so fucking hesitant, as he rouses.

 

Prompto keeps his eyes scrunched shut. He hates the way Noct sounds so fucking uncertain. There’s a rush of emotion, and a sudden flashback to the time that _Noct_ had been scared of him. Is this how it had been for Noctis? Terrified that Prompto was going to snap on him, well aware that his fear was irrational, but unable to stop it? Fuck, even Noct’s fear hadn’t been _irrational,_ because at least Prompto had been at fault.

 

This is just… it’s foolish. Prompto hates it.

 

“Don’t let go,” Prompto mumbles, and he hates that he adds on—“just… close your eyes? I’m sorry, Noct, but I’m _scared_ of them…”

 

Noctis nods, and his lips are warm as they shift, pressing kisses over Prompto’s shoulder. His cheek nuzzles in, and it’s almost a protective feeling, if only the terror would subside, and stop knotting and twisting in his belly. He _hates_ this, and he just wants to be goddamn happy with Noctis. There’s that ever-present emptiness in his chest, and Prompto misses that, too.

 

“I won’t look,” Noct replies, and he even manages to keep his voice steady, like his heart isn’t breaking. “… Prom, what _happened?”_

 

Luna and Nyx had both asked the same thing. Prompto doesn’t have any answers, and he hates that he doesn’t. He’s got a few vague memories, but they’re scattered, fragmented, and he can’t _remember,_ not properly. He wishes he could, because then maybe he’d feel like he had a little more control over his life. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so damn afraid.

 

“I don’t know,” Prompto admits. He reaches for the pillow, tugging it properly up over his face. With Noctis behind him, not looking at him, Prompto can almost ignore how much his body is rebelling against the touches. He wants to rock his hips back, to feel Noctis solid against him. Fuck, he wants to _feel_ Noct, to properly feed off him, instead of this bullshit dream affair. He wants the pain to stop. His one horn’s missing, and Prompto hasn’t even gotten a proper look at himself. The times Luna and Nyx help him to get cleaned up, Prompto keeps his eyes averted. He refuses to look at the mirror. Most times, anyway, he’s too fucking dizzy just standing up, and he hates to admit that Nyx has been essentially carrying him around. His balance is all fucked up.

 

“I wanna kill whoever did this to you,” Noct says quietly. He presses in closer, and Prompto winces, because Noct’s hard, his erection jutting into the small of Prompto’s back, right against the base of his tail. He _hates_ that he’s not turned on by it. What the fuck good is he at being an incubus, if he can’t even want sex? His mind’s all fucked up.

 

“… all I remember is the eyes,” Prompto replies, in the smallest, tiniest of voices. He fucking hates _that_ too. He remembers the weather being gorgeous, for once. He’d slipped out of bed, determined to make things a _good_ day for them. It’d finally felt like Prompto was _himself_ again. He’d been—happy? Is that the word?

 

He remembers picking up their favourite takeout.

 

And then he remembers _pain,_ and blood _everywhere,_ all over his face, and against his hands, and more pain, the _worst_ pain he’s ever felt. He remembers a voice. Prompto _knows_ it’s a voice he’s heard before, somewhere in the past, so far off in his memories. He _thinks_ he remembers a glimpse of ugly, dark horns, ones that definitely _aren’t_ Noct’s, and it’s dumb, because that should be making his dumb brain realize it’s not Noctis here—

 

But the eyes, they’re the strongest memory Prompto has. Eyes, burning into him, words about, ‘you can’t run forever,’ maybe? He’s not sure, maybe his mind made that part up. Bright, amber eyes, so similar to Noct’s, though, and then _so much pain,_ and then… nothing. The dreams, dreams of Noctis, of the past.

 

And those same goddamn eyes, belonging to Noct, locking on his, when Prompto had woken from the feverish dreams again.

 

“I know it wasn’t you,” Prompto adds, and Noct’s lips dip down, pressing another heavy kiss over his shoulder. His arms tighten, and his fingers stroke over Prompto’s abs. Prompto’s cock twitches just a little, the most half-hearted response he’s ever had to such a touch, but he just _can’t_ want more.

 

“You can’t help the response,” Noctis replies, dully, “… it’s instinct, to pull away. I-I know, Prom, remember…?”

 

Prompto tenses, and stiffens, and abruptly, he reaches down to tug Noct’s hand away from his belly. He feels the quirk of Noct’s lips against his skin, the way the other incubus has realized he shouldn’t have brought it up, but it’s too late. The swell of panic is rising in Prompto again, because Noct’s _right._ Prompto had almost killed Noctis, and he’d gone crazy, when Noct was working through it.

 

Is this how Noctis feels? Prompto hates himself. He hates being hurt, he hates being in pain, he hates being a crippled, hornless, useless fucking creature, and he hates how he’s blaming Noctis for this, even if it his stupid subconscious.

 

“I _was_ to blame, though, Noct,” Prompto hates the way his voice quivers, the way he’s shaking and trembling and roughly trying to scoot away from Noct. Squishy is still there, curled up against him, and that helps, but Prompto still can’t control himself. He doesn’t know what’s worse, either—the weather stays constant outside, and he hates that he’s _wishing_ it would cloud over, that the rain would start, because even though Prompto’s control over his powers sucks… well, it’s still something that is _his,_ right?!

 

“Prom, I…” Noct tries to say, but it’s useless, the moment is broken, the moment where Noctis _almost_ got through, and Prompto scoots away, until he’s pressed up right against the edge of the bed. He doesn’t want Noctis touching him, and he’s miserable.

 

Prompto’s shoulders heave and his head hurts and he wants his horn back, and he simply mumbles, “go away, _please.”_

 

And what choice does Noct have? He crawls out of bed and Prompto hates himself, and part of him hates Noct too for leaving, even though he’s just doing what he asked.

 

\---

 

Luna keeps telling him he’ll start getting better _soon._ Prompto’s stopped believing her. Noct’s been distant, and Prompto hates it even more. He wants Noctis to keep trying, but he can’t blame him for _not,_ because Prompto’s reactions have been so strong.

 

Prompto can’t sleep today, either, and it’s the worst, because there’s absolutely no escape from the pain. It’s gotten worse, instead of better, and that’s apparently _good –_ Nyx has apparently chipped a horn before, and he says the burning sensation means it’s healing – but Prompto doesn’t think _good_ sums up any of that. Squishy’s keeping watch, perched at the edge of the bed. Luna and Nyx aren’t here, and wherever Noct is, he’s not in the bedroom. Prompto hates that he still can’t _sense_ Noct’s presence, but maybe that’s good, given how adverse his reactions have been to the other incubus.

 

If he could just fall asleep and dive back into dreams, at least there would be some _escape._ Instead, there’s throbbing pain, covering the entire side of his head, centered in the spiral of a horn, and pulsing red-hot through Prompto’s body. Normally, he can do his best to ignore it, and he’s always quick to drift off again. Today, though? Sleep isn’t coming, and it _hurts._

 

Prompto rolls onto his side, and even that’s awful and difficult. He feels like he’s burning up, and nobody’s around to help him. He thinks about calling for Noct, but—he can’t.

 

Prompto decides, and maybe it’s a foolish, feverish idea, but he makes the decision, that he can make it to the bathroom himself. He wants a cold bath, something that will quell his fever, that will make everything stop _burning._

 

Squishy shifts and looks at him with his many eyes as Prompto braces a hand on the mattress and sits up. The world starts spinning, immediately, and he groans, but Prompto doesn’t give back into the urge to flop back down. He swings his legs over, and reaches to grip at the headboard of the bed, and he _stands up._

 

There’s a glorious moment where Prompto realizes, he’s on his feet. He _did_ this. Maybe he shouldn’t be so proud, but he’s been utterly dependent on everyone else, this recovery _sucks—_

Of course, that elation lasts about thirty seconds, until Prompto tries to take a shaky step forward. Only, his feet don’t work. Or rather, his body can’t figure out how to move in tandem with his legs. He’s all off balance. One side of his body feels heavy, and the loss of his horn is suddenly so pronounced, so _everything._

 

He feels off, and wrong, and Prompto can’t keep his balance.

 

His legs wobble, and shake, and suddenly, before he can reach for something, before he can get his grip, the world is spinning, his legs give out, and Prompto’s _falling._

 

A lot happens very fast, but somehow, it’s slow motion in Prompto’s mind, because it’s reeling so hard, and everything is so fucked up. His sense of balance is totally off, and his legs crumble. He goes down, and he plunges forward as he does. That fucking mirror is still next to the bed, and Prompto had forgotten about it. It’s still covered in that blanket, and Noct hadn’t had the heart to remove it, apparently. Now, though?

 

Prompto flails and reaches for something, anything. His fingers catch on the blanket, and it pulls free, and tangles over him as he falls. His horn – the one that’s still intact – catches on the mirror, the sharp point shattering it into a million pieces as it drags down, rough and violent. Prompto sees the individual shards, reflective and shining, fly through the air, all around him, and suddenly, he’s _down,_ on the floor.

 

Prompto’s lying in a heap. His head is throbbing, and everything hurts. He has no idea how he’s ever going to be able to drag himself up off the floor, and he doesn’t want to. The blanket from the mirror is half-covering his pathetic, huddled form. All around him, there’s shards of cracked mirror. There are jagged pieces still clinging to the frame, and when Prompto tries to pull himself up onto his hands and knees, his body shakes and gives out.

 

He’s never felt so fucking pathetic.

 

Of course, then Prompto realizes at this angle, he can _see_ a thousand little versions of himself, all reflected back in the jagged mirror shards. He looks like _shit,_ and he’s been avoiding looking. His hair’s greasy and tangled, and the spot where his horn is missing is a hideous, ugly wound. It’s all scabbed over with dried blood and scar tissue. There’d been fragments of horn still stuck but Luna had removed them – and Prompto’s glad that he was incredibly passed out for _that_ because it would’ve been horrible.

 

Prompto tries to turn his head away, because he doesn’t want to _look_ at it.

 

But, when he tips his head, all he can see is his other horn. It’s vibrant and bright and curled, but all Prompto can see, _all_ he can fucking see, is that missing purple streak. He hates himself even more, and the feeling is unbearable, as it builds in his chest. He’d hated that stripe, he’d wished it would go the fuck away, and now that it has?

 

Prompto just wants it _back._

 

The thick, harsh sobs well up, and suddenly, Prompto’s sobbing. Squish flops down off the bed, and wobbles to his side, and Prompto can’t even think to get his arms around the malboro. He simply sobs, heavy, wracking, horrible sounds erupting from his throat. His chest is tight and it hurts, and he can’t _breathe,_ and he wishes he couldn’t see. But Prompto can’t look away, and his hot, bitter tears only blur his vision, but he can still make out the blobs of colour, colour that isn’t _Noctis,_ and he doesn’t want to be here—

 

Outside, the weather suddenly intensifies, and the sky goes from grey to darker to _black_ in second, great clouds swirling and gathering momentum, and the temperature suddenly rises, the air gets thick and humid—

 

The door opens, and Prompto’s mind doesn’t even register it at first. He wants to _die._ In this fucking moment, he’s done. He’s sick of hurting, he’s useless, he’s alone, and he’s surrounded by his own shattered reflection, and there’s _nothing_ left for him. The emptiness in his chest reminds him that he’s so fucking alone.

 

“Prom?” Noct’s voice seems distant, far off, and then, suddenly, closer, more intense. “Shit! _Prompto!”_

Prompto can’t do anything. The sobs are still coming, and he can’t quell them. His chest is constricting, tight and heavy, and he wishes he could close his eyes and make it all go away. Fuck, he can’t even complain when Noct sinks to his knees next to him. There’s the panic, there’s _always_ the panic, but it’s secondary, because he just _hurts._

He’s exhausted. He hurts. Every part of him is screaming in agony, and Prompto doesn’t have the energy to be scared. He simply closes his eyes, scrunches them tight, and tips his head away from Noct. Prompto’s pretty sure he mumbles a thick, “no, go away,” but he’s not sure, and Noctis isn’t _listening._

“Fuck, Prom, I’ve _got you,”_ Noctis says, instead, and there’s warm arms around him, tugging him upright. Outside, the rain is coming down harsh, and it’s heavy and thick and the walls are shaking with the gusts of wind. It feels like a fucking tornado is coming, and Prompto hopes that it takes him down with it, he can’t think about _stopping it,_ at least his powers are responding—

 

“Leave me alone,” Prompto says, or so he thinks he does. He might just be crying. His chest feels like it’s going to explode.

 

“ _No,”_ Noct’s voice is firm, and Prompto both loves him and hates him for it. He wants Noctis to go—but does he _really?_

 

Prompto squeezes his eyes shut, because he can’t look, but Noct’s hovering over him, and he realizes he can’t look _away._ He meets Noct’s gaze, and the amber eyes are there, so familiar, and it’s a heavy jolt of panic, it’s cutting through _everything._ He wants to run, he wants to shove Noct away and to take off, and to never look back, his body’s screaming _go—_

“I’ve got you,” Noctis mumbles, “hey, Prom? We’re gonna breathe, okay? Deep breaths. Count with me…”

 

Vaguely, Prompto’s pretty sure that’s one of the dumb techniques Nyx taught him, seemingly ages ago. Prompto thinks it’s dumb. It won’t help. His body’s seizing up, and the wind is howling, and his _power,_ it’s so close, on the tips of his fingers, screaming for him. Prompto doesn’t _want_ any of this.

 

But Squishy’s tentacle curls around Prompto’s wrist, and suddenly, he’s pulled a jerky step back. His eyes are wild, and he looks around, intense, and then focuses on Noct’s again.

 

There’s still fear. There’s fucking _terror._

But… Noct’s eyes aren’t cruel. They aren’t eyeing him like he’s a fucking plaything.

 

Noctis looks terrified. For _him._ For Prompto.

 

“C’mon, deep breaths,” Noct says, and Prompto takes a deep breath, and he doesn’t think about anything else. It’s stupid. He doesn’t need to breathe. But somehow, focusing on that one thing, on the feeling of his lungs drawing in a gulp of air, it makes the pain ease away, just a _little._ It makes the uncontrollable fear… well, just a touch more _controllable._

It _helps._

 

“That’s good,” Noctis says, as Prompto takes another deep breath, and then another. The wind is still whipping, but suddenly, that hot, humid thickness to the air eases away a little, and that make breathing even _easier,_ like taking in deep refreshing gulps.

 

Prompto’s skin is covered in a thick sheen of swear, and Noct’s hands are stroking over his cheeks, cool and dry and it feels _good._ Prompto’s still fighting the urge to recoil, but—he’s _fighting_ it.

 

“I love you, you idiot,” Noctis says, quietly, “and I _know_ you can’t help it, but fuck, you don’t need to do this alone. Even if you can’t _look_ at me… I can talk to you. I can call Luna and Nyx to help, you’re not _alone…”_

 

Noct’s rambling, but he’s _talking,_ and Prompto realizes, suddenly, that he’s focusing. He’s picking up on the hitch of Noct’s breath, the bitter sadness in his voice, and when he looks into those amber eyes again, heavy with emotion, he sees the prick of tears in the corner, the salt of tears streaking over his cheeks.

 

Prompto’s sobs have calmed a little, and suddenly, the emptiness isn’t quite so heavy. It’s _almost_ like the echoes of Noct are there, calling out to him, a warm little presence in between his ribs.

 

“Noct…” Prompto manages, and his voice is tiny, pathetic and weak, but it’s there. One hand is tangled in Squishy’s tentacles, and the malboro is a calming presence, making tiny cooing sounds as Prompto focuses there. His other hand lifts, to his cheek, where Noct’s stroking, and Prompto’s fingers are shaking, but they brush against the back of Noct’s hand.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says, quietly, his tone shifting, solidifying a little more, and it sounds… _hopeful?_ Yeah. Hopeful. “… is this okay?”

 

Is it okay?

 

Prompto frowns. He realizes he’s chewing his lip, one of Noct’s stupid bad habits, and he’s gnawed it so hard that there’s a trickle of blood running down his chin. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t hurt, because _everything_ already hurts, anyway, so what’s a bit more?

 

“Nothing’s okay, Noct,” Prompto admits, quietly. He hates admitting it. Somehow, making the confession, saying it, it makes everything real. It’s easy to get lost in pretending that this is all a huge dream, because Noct keeps following him there, doesn’t he?

 

“We’re okay,” Noct replies. Prompto tries to laugh, but a choked sob comes out instead, and Noctis trembles a little, but his hand shifts, lifting from stroking Prompto’s cheek to curl around his fingers instead. Prompto tries to withdraw, but Noct’s grip is firm. He lifts Prompto’s hand to his lips, and presses a kiss, right over the back of it, then over each knuckle, slow and wet and soft.

 

It reminds Prompto of another moment they’d shared—one that’s a memory, definitely a memory, and not just a vague, far off dream. _One day,_ Noct had promised, _he’d be good enough._

“You’re good enough,” Prompto manages, before he has to look away again. He _wants_ to get lost in Noct’s eyes, to simply find happy thoughts, to have it all back. How the hell had he been so terrified of being _imprinted?_ Noctis is everything, after all. He’s Prompto’s whole world—imprint or not, he still _is._ Prompto just wishes he could convince himself of that.

 

And fuck, maybe, even without that tangible connection, they still share thoughts, because Noct’s speaking again.

 

“We don’t need an imprint, Prom,” Noct says, quietly, and there’s a strange quality to his voice. There’s a shift from terror to some deep-seated confidence, and it feels like maybe, Noct’s found _something_ still left of everything that’s been shattered. “You can be afraid of me all you want. I won’t fucking run away from you. I’ll _wait,_ and I’ll take care of you, and eventually, you’ll be ready. We were together before any of this happened, we’ll _still_ be together without it.”

 

Prompto wants to cry, because he _wants_ that bond back.

 

“I—”

 

“Shush,” Noctis interrupts, immediately, and his voice carries, still has all of that confidence, and it cuts through another fresh wave of panic. Prompto still can’t quite meet Noct’s gaze, but he can tip his head to the other side, to nuzzle into Noct’s stomach, and it’s warm and comforting and just _maybe,_ things will end up being okay.

 

“I want to have it back, too. Luna said it might come back, when your horns regrow, but even if it _doesn’t,_ I don’t care. I’m still yours.”

 

Prompto doesn’t reply. Another choked sob comes out, instead, harsh, and his whole body shakes, and suddenly, he’s pressing his whole face up against Noct’s belly. Noct’s arms, shift, lifting him fully into his lap, cradling him. Prompto finds himself with his face tucked into the crook of Noct’s neck, and he simply cries, until they’re both soaked with tears. Outside, the rain is falling, and the wind is still whipping, wild and intense, but the air has gone cool again, and it’s just a regular, typical storm.

 

Eventually, Prompto drifts off. He dozes and he doesn’t know for how long.

 

When he wakes up, he’s still in Noct’s arms. The glass has been cleaned away. Squishy is curled up, nestled in between their bodies. Noct’s leaning back against the mattress, simply holding him, watching.

 

“Don’t look at me if you’re not ready,” Noct says, quietly, as Prompto starts to lift his eyes, “I get it. I understand, you know.”  


Prompto doesn’t dare try to look, because for a moment, he feels _safe,_ and the terror is there, it always _will_ be, he thinks, but it’s suppressed, it’s just a weight he can push aside and ignore. He thinks he might be able to manage _that,_ as long as he doesn’t encourage it.

 

“… sorry,” Prompto says, quietly. Luna and Nyx might have shown up while he was sleeping, because he’s still tangled in Noct’s arms, and the room’s been tidied up around them. “… you didn’t need to stay, you know.”

 

“I know,” Noct agrees, “but… I wanna show you something.”

 

Noct carefully presses a hand to Prompto’s jaw and turns his head. Prompto wants to fight it, but Noct’s grip is firm, and there’s no question to his tone. Prompto gets ready for the burst of panic, for the well of self-hatred when his face is tipped toward the mirror, that horrible, gaping empty spot where his horn was staring back at him, but it doesn’t come.

 

Instead, there’s a strange _elation,_ a feeling Prompto… didn’t expect to _ever_ feel again.

 

His reflection is smiling uncertainly back at him, and Prompto realizes no, _he’s_ the one smiling. It’s shy and tentative, and he almost doesn’t recognize himself without his features etched into pain.

 

The wound where his horn was is tinged pink, and there’s the tiniest little hint of a new spike pointing through. It’s only about an inch long, but the colours are vibrant, and they’re _his,_ and—

 

“You see it?” Noct asks, quietly.

 

Prompto thinks he does. He wants to. He’s terrified, and he still can’t _look_ at Noctis, after all. He needs something to cling to. Maybe it’s just their imaginations, maybe it’s just blind optimism, but he swears, there’s a hint of purple in there, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I don't always break hearts!! <3  
> Twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree; numi is @numinoceur~ <3   
> see ya tomorrow. :v


	28. Hold On Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things aren't really gone forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27/28 -- today is a little late, sorry! Numi and I both had lives yesterday, and social obligations came first. <3 
> 
> The prompt for yesterday was temperature play and I... really wanted to mess with that. This really is a mostly soft day though, I promise!! :D
> 
> [Companion art for today!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/924403688122150913)

Things are never easy, with Noct and Prompto.

 

But, for once, they’re a little _easier,_ given the circumstances.

 

Noct’s been around long enough to know that issues don’t immediately go away. He’s dealt with the whole irrational (or, maybe, quite rational) instinct to run away, to protect himself, and he knows Prompto’s messed up from his attack. He’s in pain, and he’s somewhat crippled – there’s no nicer way to put it – and that’s all something he’s really _trying_ to keep in mind.

 

They’re working through it, slowly but surely, in any case.

 

“Noct,” Prompto’s grumbling, for starters. His progress is slow, but steady, and he has progressed from being entirely bedridden to at _least_ being capable of sitting up, with the assistance of lots of pillows, propped up on the couch. Prompto is getting increasingly frustrated by it, of course, but there’s no helping it. His entire sense of balance has been totally thrown off.

 

“Just shut up, and let me help you,” Noct teases, lighthearted, a smile flitting across his face as he offers the spoon.

 

Noct’s absolutely _not_ above spoon-feeding ice cream to his injured incubus boyfriend, after all. Prompto groans and lifts a hand to try and snatch the spoon away, but everything is _off._ He wobbles and his fingers shake and he can’t quite line himself up properly, and his fingers instead brush through empty air, closing on nothing.

 

“Noctis, this _sucks!”_ Prompto whines, sighing and tipping his head back against the couch. He’s gone a stumpy little horn poking through one side of his head, and it seems to have made things _worse,_ because now instead of simply nothing, he’s got uneven weight. Prompto can’t quite hold his head steady, and Noctis finds it impossibly endearing, even though it’s a source of endless frustration to the other incubus.

 

“Yeah, but it could be worse,” Noct reminds him, that damn smile tugging at his lips again. “Remember what Nyx said? It’s regrowing way faster than they thought it would. You got lucky.”

 

“I don’t _feel_ lucky,” Prompto groans. “Lucky people don’t get their horns ripped off.”

 

Noctis rolls his eyes and he nudges the spoon full of half-melted treat against Prompto’s lips.

 

“Less talk, more eating.”

 

“You say that like I actually _have_ to eat this dumb mortal food,” Prompto points out, but he opens his lips and – with a hand bracing against the couch cushion – leans forward to close his lips around the spoon.

 

“It’ll make you feel better,” Noctis says, very smugly. “Ice cream _always_ makes you feel better.”

 

Prompto doesn’t say anything, but his eyes flutter shut as he eats his spoonful of ice cream. “Shut up, Noctis,” he finally says, a bit thickly, when Noct pulls the spoon away and digs it back down into the partially melted pint to load up more. “I can’t help it. Humans are good at being fat.”

 

“You want me to fatten you up, huh?” Noct teases, He lifts another spoonful of the ice cream up, but Prompto hesitates.

 

“… wait. That can’t actually _happen,_ right?! You know I can’t alter my appearance the way you can! Don’t tell me I’m gonna get fat!”

 

“It was a joke, Prompto,” Noctis sighs. It’s a valid question, of course, because Prompto’s proven time and time again that the normal rules don’t apply to him. Different powers, a bond that _may not_ have actually been shattered after all, and faster healing abilities... they’re all just a _thing_ with them. Of course, they’ve both eaten their body weights in human junk food enough times that Noct’s pretty sure Prompto is safe, in that regard.

 

“A shitty joke,” Prompto grumbles, but he leans forward and eats the ice cream off the spoon again, before collapsing back against the couch. “Make the horns _grow back,_ Noctis…”

 

Noct sighs. He wishes he could make it go by faster, honestly, because even though he’s enjoying caring for Prompto this way, it breaks his heart a little, seeing Prompto injured. And just because things are better doesn’t mean Prompto isn’t still having meltdowns.

 

\---

Noct’s gotten better at dealing with the meltdowns, though.

 

They’re in the middle of some comfortable making out, and Prompto’s responding lazy and happy. The sex has adjusted some, too. Prompto’s taken on a more passive role, which is… _different,_ for sure. Normally, of course, Prompto’s the one enthusiastically taking the lead. Now, since he’s essentially bedridden, it’s mostly Noct initiating and doing all the work, and that’s not _bad,_ just different.

 

“Noct,” Prompto sighs. He’s on his back, with Noctis hovering over him. Noct’s lips are working on Prompto’s jaw, laying nips and kisses there, slow and steady. Prompto’s thighs are parted, and they’re already both naked. Prompto’s lifting his hips up and writhing against Noctis, and he manages that well enough, gasping at the press of hot friction as their cocks bump together.

 

“You want me?” Noctis teases, with a quiet laugh, as he lifts his head. Their eyes meet, though, and things go from zero to one hundred in a split second, because suddenly, Prompto’s eyes cloud over, and his breath catches, and he’s trembling violently, but not from arousal. He tries to give Noctis a shove, but his fingers are shaking, and his balance is all off, and the result is a strange, awkward scramble backwards, where Prompto’s skull hits the headboard and cold sweat is instantly pricking—

 

“I’m _sorry,”_ Prompto gasps out, turning his head to the side, his eyes squeezing shut, his face going pale, “fuck, Noct, you _looked at me—”_

 

“It’s okay,” Noctis is still terrible at expressing his feelings, at talking things over the way he should, but he half expects this every time they do this. He’s stopped diving into Prompto’s dreams—and he’s grateful for that—but this isn’t the first round of sex they’ve had to stop because Prompto’s gotten jumpy and terrified. Noct pulls back, and the heated moment is absolutely broken, his erection going soft, his eyes downcast, purposely drawing away from Prompto’s.

 

“You want me to leave? Or stay? I can close my eyes, you don’t have to _look_ at me, you can just listen…” Noct reaches a hand, tentatively, for Prompto’s. Prompto’s curled himself up against the headboard, arms wrapped around his chest, and he looks sad, fragile, a little broken. Noct _hates_ this part.

 

“… you can stay,” Prompto says, quietly, “I… I _know_ it’s not you. I’m sorry, Noct, I just panic.”

 

“It’s fine,” Noctis tips his head away, as he climbs up, settling next to Prompto and tugging his head to settle in his lap. He’s careful to avoid the stump of his horn, because the exposed nerves are raw and painful to the touch, sensitive in a way that absolutely isn’t a _good_ one. “I’ve got you, Prom. It’s not your fault.”

 

Prompto buries his face in Noct’s chest, and slowly, his breathing steadies, and the sudden icy rush over his skin doesn’t fade, but they power through it, _together._

 

“… sorry. I ruined everything,” Prompto’s laugh is a nervous, self-conscious one, but Noct shakes his head and shuts his eyes and just tightens his hold around Prompto.

 

“Hey, you know how _soft_ I am. You’re always telling me that,” Noctis smiles, pressing his lips into Prompto’s shoulder as he cradles him up against his chest. “I’m totally fine with cuddling. This is really nice too.”

 

Prompto presses closer, and the trembling slowly eases away, as he breathes deeply. “… you’re so fucking lame, Noctis.”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, “can’t deny that.”

 

\---

 

The first time Prompto successfully manages to take a few wobbly steps forward _entirely_ on his own, he’s elated, calling for Noct as he braces a hand against the wall.

 

Noct’s torn, as he rushes in. He’s used to dropping everything and coming to Prompto’s side with a call of his name. Prompto _is_ everything to him, after all. His horn’s steadily regrowing, and some of its former sensitivity is _finally_ starting to return. Noctis still swears he sees purple there, but it’s faint, a hopeful dream of more to come, but… still hard to say, really.

 

“Check it out,” Prompto says, proudly, as he lifts his head. Their eyes meet, and Prompto wobbles a little, hesitating and tensing just a bit under the gaze. He’s still thrown off by Noct’s eyes, and he’s still panicking and freaking out, but Prompto’s mood is _strong,_ absolutely elated by his progress, and he pushes it aside. There’s a little swell of pride rising in Noct’s chest.

 

“This how a proud parent feels?” Noctis teases, as he leans against the door, watching. “Baby’s first steps?”

 

“That’s _weird,_ Noctis,” Prompto rolls his eyes. He lifts his hand off the wall, and takes a few more wobbly steps forward. His balance is off-centered and the steps are strange, lilting ones, his weight shifting side to side, but Prompto looks pleased enough with himself. That’s good, Noct realizes, because the alternative would be realizing how goddamn far there is still to go.

 

“See. Recovery. Slow but steady,” Noct says, instead, encouraging words that ignore all of Prompto’s biting sarcasm. “Now I don’t have to help you hobble around.”

 

“Thank fucking god,” Prompto replies, with another eyeroll, even though he didn’t mind it _that_ much. The novelty of the situation has definitely worn off for Prompto, though Noct’s still thriving on providing so much care.

 

Prompto takes a few more steps forward, his confidence growing, as he seems to find his balance. Of course, that’s short-lived, the second he tries to actually walk through the doorway. His legs aren’t quite good at moving in a straight line, and Prompto side-steps, and there’s a sudden harsh _smack_ as he collides face-first with the doorframe.

 

“Fuck—!”

 

“Okay,” Noct’s at Prompto’s side instantly, and he can’t quite hold back a burst of laughter as he gets an arm around Prompto, tugging him back. Prompto’s pride looks slightly wounded, but he’s laughing too, because how can he not laugh at himself—he just ran into a fucking door.

 

“So, lesson learned. Doorways are hard. You’re like a cat without its whiskers, Prom. It takes time.”

 

“Noct, you’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” Prompto groans, leaning against Noctis for support as he’s tugged back to the bed.

 

“Nope,” Noctis agrees. “How’s your horn feel today?”

 

Prompto frowns as they sit down heavily at the edge of the bed. He groans, and shifts, adjusting his weight again to lean against Noct’s side. Even if he’s not saying it, Noctis knows that the whole walking thing when he’s all off-balance has to be dizzying, and it’s gotta be a huge exertion of energy, too.

 

“… better. Doesn’t _hurt_ much anymore. There’s still… I dunno? Luna called them ‘growing pains’ but it doesn’t feel like someone’s burning it out of my skull anymore.”

 

Noctis nods. He has an idea, and he’s had one for a while. Nyx had been _skeptical,_ but… “I could lick it, y’know. Might help the healing. It helped the other time.”

 

Prompto makes a noise that can only be described as _skeptical._ “You want to _lick_ my horn? I dunno, Noct, that sounds weird—”

 

“Weirder things have happened with us,” Noctis points out. “Doesn’t hurt to try. Unless it’s going to hurt too much.”

 

Prompto goes silent, as he mulls that thought over. “… can’t hurt any more than it did before,” he admits, slowly, after a few moments. One hand’s shifting, playing with the hem of his shirt, a bit of a nervous gesture. Hell, Noct’s oddly nervous himself about this, chewing idly at his bottom lip, his eyes a bit downcast, so he doesn’t scare Prompto off and trigger another one of his episodes.

 

“Just scream at me to stop and I will,” Noctis says. He carefully shifts them backwards, situating himself more firmly in the middle of the bed, sitting upright, Prompto pulled back-to-chest in his lap. His arms wrap around Prompto’s waist, dipping into the band of his shirt, teasing and playing over prominent hipbones and tugging at piercings. It makes Prompto relax, his head tipping back to rest on Noct’s shoulder.

 

The first slow drag of Noct’s tongue over the healing horn makes Prompto jerk. He makes a _sound,_ and it’s one that Noct can’t quite figure out, whether it’s good or bad, pain or pleasure. Honestly, it’s probably both.

 

“Want me to stop?” Noct mumbles, pulling his lips away a little from the slow-growing ridge of horn.

 

“…no,” Prompto says, slowly. “… it’s intense, and I dunno if it’s _good,_ but you can keep going…”

 

Noct nods, and his lips go back in, his tongue working delicate laps over the growth of horn, wet and a little messy, covering it with saliva. Prompto’s hips rock, and his eyes flutter, and the little gasping sound he makes, quite honestly, goes right to Noct’s cock. He ignores it, but Prompto arches back, rocking into him. It feels _good._

“Tingles, Noct,” Prompto laughs. Noctis responds with a quiet hum, and he keeps going, only pulling away when the whole horn is coated with a thin, messy sheen of incubus saliva. It’d helped heal the physical wounds on his body, so maybe it will help here, too.

 

“Not bad, right?” Noct mumbles, tipping his head to press wet kisses over the shell of Prompto’s pierced ear, nibbling at the lobe, shifting to kiss the sensitive spot right behind.

 

“Y-yeah,” Prompto gasps, and he tries to arch again, tries to rock back against the jut of Noct’s cock. Unfortunately, even with Noct’s arms steadying him, Prompto loses his balance, and he wobbles, and he pitches sideways, pulling Noct down with him into a tangled heap on the mattress.

 

“Gonna have to work on that part,” Noct laughs, as they lie together in a mess. He rolls them around, though, getting Prompto pressed down on his back, and Noct’s careful to keep his gaze downcast as he presses kisses all over Prompto, and this time, with Prompto flat on his back, they’re far more successful.

 

Noct’s glad. He _really_ did not like that whole invasive, dream-feeding thing.

 

\---

 

“I thought maybe we could try something,” Noctis says, one day. Prompto’s still all wobbly and off-balance, but his horn’s grown a little more, and Noct’s pretty sure it’s because of him licking the wound clean every time Prompto lets him. It’s an overwhelming experience for Prompto, so he doesn’t always agree to it—but when he does? Well, the sex that follows is good. It’s always good, of course, but that’s besides the point.

 

“I’m listening, Noct,” Prompto says.

 

“… well. Since my eyes bug you so much,” Noct says, and Prompto _immediately_ tenses. Noct feels a little rush of panic, and he immediately goes on the defense, playing damage control. “… sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean it like _that,_ I know it’s not your fault. But since it bugs you. Maybe we could like… use a blindfold.”

 

Prompto blinks, and tips his head. “Like, you blindfold me?”

 

“Yeah,” Noct agrees. They’ve had lots of kinky sex in the past. Lately, it’s been very tender and vanilla, and that’s perfect all on its own, but they _are_ incubi, at the heart of their nature. Sex is what they thrive on, and neither of them are really used to be reduced to soft sex for too long. Prompto’s been complaining that he wants something _different,_ something rough and eager, it’s just that his body isn’t cooperating, and he’s still in a lot of pain that he can’t filter away.

 

Noctis isn’t about to hurt Prompto, either, not unless he’s well enough to consent and enjoy it.

 

They’ve done all this kinky stuff in the past, and as far as blindfolds go? It’s still pretty damn vanilla. They’ve both been restrained in all sorts of ways. So it’s not even that extreme of a suggestion, more of a hopeful coping mechanism.

 

“We could do that,” Prompto agrees, quietly.

 

Noctis nods, and so, five minutes later, he has Prompto pressed back into the mattress, a scarf tied tightly around his eyes. There’s a bit of adjusting, making sure that Prompto’s heightened eyesight can’t work through the dark fabric, making sure that it’s not drawn _too_ tight, that it’s tucked snugly away from the healing horn and isn’t going to irritate the stump of it, and finally, Noctis seems pleased.

 

“Everything okay?” Noct asks.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, though he doesn’t quite sound so certain. It makes Noctis pause, readjust the blindfold again, and Prompto seems to relax a little bit more.

 

“You sure?” Noct’s not sure how he feels, but Prompto grumbles and mutters a – “get on with it already!” and Noct leans in, nuzzling into Prompto’s cheek, laying kisses over his skin. It’s nice, not having to worry about his eyes setting Prompto off.

 

Prompto’s breath picks up, as Noct’s hand lazily strokes down over his belly, tracing across his hip, dipping down between his thighs. His head tips back and he bites his lip and his hips rock forward as Noct’s hand closes around his cock, his fingers tracing a vein as he jerks him slowly. The heat is pooling in Noct’s belly, his own cock twitching to life. He’d love to draw it out, but they’ve both been _needing_ sexual contact for a while now. The last couple of times had been interrupted by Prompto panicking.

 

Prompto sighs, as Noct settles between his thighs, tugging a leg up around his waist. They both _gasp,_ when Noct’s hips drive forward, when he buries himself inside. Prompto’s hips are tipped up, and it lets Noct thrust deep and urgent, and it feels _amazing._ It’s a faster fuck than they’ve been having, and maybe they’re _finally_ on the road to recovery.

 

“Noct—” Prompto says suddenly, urgently, and then it’s followed by, “… Squishy?”

 

Noctis laughs a little, breathless, burying his face in Prompto’s clavicle. What the hell is Prompto saying the malboro’s name for? “Weirdo,” he mumbles, affectionately. Prompto, though, is tensing underneath him. He’s clenching down on Noct’s cock, twisting, and his own erection isn’t quite as prominent, pressed between their bellies.

 

 _“… squish…!”_ Prompto says again, more urgently, and suddenly, Noctis _realizes._ They’d set the dumb malboro’s name as a fucking _safe word,_ and they’ve _never_ had to use the safe word before. But as awareness floods through him, Noct realizes that Prompto’s tense and writhing against him to try and get _away._ His hands are fumbling at his face, but Noct’s tied the blindfold tight, and Prompto’s balance is still all disoriented and he has trouble tugging at it.

 

“Fuck, Prom, I’m _sorry,”_ Noctis withdraws in a rush. He shifts to the side, fingers shaking just a little as he tugs the blindfold free. Prompto gasps and his eyes are wide and wet and there’s tears pricking, and Noct feels a _horrible_ surge of guilt. He’d known Prompto was uncertain with the whole thing, and he’d pushed anyway, and now he feels terrible.

 

“… sorry,” Prompto says, and then he’s sobbing those big, ugly sobs, the ones that wrack all through him and have his chest heaving. Noctis tugs Prompto onto his side, pulling his face into his chest, and Prompto doesn’t fight it, simply curls his arms around Noctis and presses his face in, right over his beating heart, and he cries it out, shaking and gasping all through.

 

“Just listen to my voice,” Noct says, quietly, as they stay like that, legs tangled and tails curled together, Prompto’s face a wet mess against Noct’s chest. “… don’t look at me, that makes it worse, just _listen,_ we’re gonna breathe…”

 

Slowly, Prompto’s sobs subside. He’s still shaking, from the panic and from the chill that’s worked its way into his skin. There’s bumps pricked up on his skin, and a hoarse sound escapes his lips as he tries to take another deep breath, but it’s a little better. The moment has faded, at least, and Noct keeps his arms wrapped tight around Prompto, keeps him drawn up close

 

Noctis doesn’t say anything, and neither does Prompto, not for a long time, not until the sobs finally totally fade, and they’re sitting in _silence._

 

“… I’m sorry, Noct,” Prompto says, finally. He doesn’t lift his head, and Noctis rakes his fingers through Prompto’s hair in soft, reassuring strokes. _It’s okay,_ Noctis wants to reply, immediately, but Prompto sounds like he’s got something else on his mind, more words to offer, so he simply waits through the silence.

 

Prompto sniffles, and presses in closer. “… the blindfold. It… I dunno. I’m already _weak,_ Noct, and nothing’s working right, and not being able to see, it just… it scared the shit out of me.”

 

Of course, Noctis should have expected that. He feels like an idiot, with Prompto saying it like that, and he frowns a little, tipping his head down, pressing a kiss right into the top of Prompto’s head. “… fuck, Prom, I’m dumb, I should’ve realized—”

 

“It’s _fine,_ I’m the one who fucked things up, why are you apologizing?” Prompto sniffles, but there’s a bit more edge to his voice, and he doesn’t sound quite as panicked and upset anymore. There’s a bit of a tease, and Prompto gives Noct a playful nudge.

 

As they lie there, Noctis realizes, abruptly, that Squishy has ambled his way into the room, and he’s crawled onto the bed and curled up next to Prompto’s back, a tentacle stroking over his skin. He frowns, and gives Squishy a _look,_ and gets a multi-eyed look right back. Noct doesn’t _really_ know what the malboro is thinking, of course, but he’s pretty sure Squish is wondering why Prompto was calling him.

 

“We need a better safe word,” Noctis says, with a laugh.

 

“You picked a stupid safe word,” Prompto agrees, laughing right back.

 

“I’m the one who _insisted_ on one, remember! I told you it’d come in handy!” Noct laughs, and shakes his head, but he’s smiling, and Prompto manages a shaky smile right back.

 

\---

 

Just when Noctis really thinks things are finally getting better, when Prompto finally manages to wobble his way around again, when his horn really _does_ seem to be growing back, Prompto’s suddenly hit with a sudden rebound of horrible fever.

 

Noctis wakes up to Prompto violently shivering in his arms, and he frowns, instantly. Prompto’s covered in a thick sweat, and he’s icy cold, despite the sheets being soaked around them. There’s wind whipping in through the window – which had been shut, when they’d fallen asleep, but it’s so strong and ferocious that it’s blown the window open.

 

“Prom?” Noct can’t quite hold back the concern in his voice.

 

“… fuck,” Prompto whines, in response, “Noct, why do I _hurt_ so much?”

 

There’s lots of smart answers running through Noct’s head, things like, ‘well, your horn _did_ get sliced off,’ and ‘I _told_ you that you should be taking it easy’, but Prompto makes a pathetic whimpering sound and snuggles closer against Noctis, shivering. Noct’s heart thumps in his chest and he feels guilty. All he wants, really, is to make Prompto feel better.

 

“How about I run a bath?” Noctis says, instead of all the smart ass responses. He’s kinda proud of himself. He might actually be getting _good_ at being a considerate lover, after all these centuries. It’s only taken a few near-death experiences and that empty, heavy feeling in his chest where Prompto simply _was_ before.

 

“Sounds good,” Prompto agrees, weakly. Noct presses a kiss to the top of his head and then disentangles, leaving Prompto to Squishy’s care while he heads into the bathroom and gets a nice bath running, complete with fragrant bubbles.

 

Getting Prompto into the tub is a bit of effort. Prompto’s been stubbornly increasingly more independent lately – probably overexerting himself, when so much of his energy is going into regrowing his horn – and that’s probably part of why he’s suddenly hit so hard with a fever. He keeps insisting that he’s _fine,_ and he can walk, and immediately falls face-first into a wall and almost knocks a dresser over.

 

When Prompto almost pitches face-first into the mirror that Noct’s _just_ replaced, Noctis scoops him up into his arms and he lets Prompto whine and complain, but they get settled warm in the bath, Prompto’s head resting back on Noct’s shoulder while Noct lazily runs soapy fingers over his belly.

 

The stump of horn is healing a lot faster, these days. Soon enough, Prompto might _actually_ be able to walk. Noctis hopes so, at least, because he knows Prompto is getting increasingly frustrated. Noct’s powers are returning, though, now that Prompto’s strength isn’t as sapped. Noct’s taking that as a sign that just _maybe_ their imprint is still there, somewhere, if he’s being so heavily influenced by Prompto’s abilities.

 

Noct nuzzles into Prompto’s horn, and drags his tongue over it, and Prompto shivers, but he doesn’t push him away. His face is still sweaty, and Noctis carefully reaches for a cloth, lathering it up with soap and hot water, and wipes the salty sweat away from Prompto’s skin.

 

“Better?” Noctis asks.

 

“… mmm,” Prompto sighs, snuggling in closer, “feels good.”

 

They stay like this, curled up in the hot water, Noctis slowly working his fingers over Prompto’s skin, easing away some of the tense muscles, chasing the fever and the sickness. Noctis closes his eyes and he drifts off a little, warm and content, dozing in and out of reality and dream. It’s relaxing, and nice, but, eventually, Prompto makes a quiet noise, and Noctis stirs, jolting awake.

 

“Prom?”

 

Prompto makes a louder noise, and it’s _definitely_ discomfort. “It’s _hot,”_ he groans, and when Noctis lifts his hand out of the water, and brushes it over Prompto’s cheeks, they’re red and hot and angry.

 

“Fuck. Too hot, huh?”

 

They just can’t win, really. One moment Prompto’s shivering, feverish and cold, and the next he’s blistering hot, feverish and angry. Prompto’s face is scrunched up in pain, and Noct can _tell,_ just from looking at him, that he’s got another of those throbbing headaches coming on. Their bond might be broken right now, but he still knows the other incubus well, and he’s been playing nurse for quite a while. With his powers mostly restored, Luna and Nyx are still hanging nearby—because Prompto has absolutely no control over his mood swings, still—but they’re not tending to them as often. It’s better, being just the two of them.

 

Noct’s kinda proud of it, honestly, that he’s finally figuring this shit out.

 

So Noctis hoists them up out of the bath, and he gets Prompto all dried off in soft towels, and carried back to bed. He hastily tugs the blankets up over the top of the bed to cover the sweaty, dirty sheets – he’s _really_ gotten domestic, he’s thinking about sheets now – and Prompto quickly flops back on the sheets and whines and tips his head to press his face into the blankets. His skin is slick again, a combination of clinging water from the bath and fresh sweat beading.

 

Noct has an idea, though, and he leaves Prompto for a moment, rifling through the freezer with a cup. Prompto’s half-watching as Noct returns, his eyes lidded and clouded over with sickness.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You need to cool down now,” Noctis says, simply, and he settles down on top of the bed.

 

Prompto looks good, even when he’s flush with fever and trembling with sickness. His abs are fluttering as he tries to get his balance and sit up, but he’s already all thrown off-center and he’s weak from the fever, so it’s rather unsuccessful and ends with him groaning and giving up, collapsing back into the bed.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto groans, “what evil thing are you doing now?”

 

Noctis doesn’t reply, but he reaches into the cup he’s brought with him, plucks out an ice cube, and drags it lazily over Prompto’s heated chest. Prompto _yelps,_ and jerks up, but Noct ignores _that,_ because he’s a bit fascinated with how the ice begins to melt instantly, leaving little trickles of water across Prompto’s skin.

 

“Stop that—” Prompto starts to say. Noct ignores that, too, as he swirls a bit of the ice around one of Prompto’s nipples. The responding gasp and lazy roll of Prompto’s hips, combined with how his nipple immediately perks up in a stiff peak, is more than enough encouragement.

 

“You _really_ want me to stop?” Noctis leans in, and he drags his tongue over the wet trail left by the melting ice, and Prompto gasps. The combination of ice and delicious, hot drags of tongue is a delicious bit of stark contrast, and Prompto’s cock is already twitching to life between his thighs.

 

“… fuck, Noct, _don’t_ stop,” Prompto corrects himself, with a gasp. The ice fully melts, and Noctis admires the water pooling over Prompto’s chest, the trails he hasn’t chased with his tongue running in little rivulets down his sides.

 

“Not gonna stop,” Noctis agrees, reaching for another ice cube, his fingers teasing the ice over Prompto’s other nipple, teasing it until it’s stiff and erect. Prompto whines, and his hips rock up. He’s already fully hard, and Noct appreciates that, eyes glinting evilly as he trails the ice down the center of Prompto’s chest, over heated, freckled skin, down along the ridges of his abs. Prompto’s already oversensitive, hyper-stimulated by the shock of cold over his too-hot skin.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto’s voice has taken on that desperate, needy quality that Noctis loves so much when he dips the ice into his navel, tongue chasing the wet trail to lap it away. It’s got Prompto twisting and writhing and his eyes are squeezed shut, and that probably intensifies the sensation.

 

Noct wants to laugh, but he finds himself moaning, as Prompto’s hips jerk up, the ice melting entirely under his numb fingertips. The cold doesn’t bother them, not really, but with Prompto’s abilities all out of whack? He’s feeling all of it, and it’s the most satisfying feeling, knowing that he’s driving Prompto insane.

 

“Want you,” Prompto sighs, and the words sharpen, turn into a hiss, when Noct reaches for another icecube, and drags it up the underside of his erection, right over a thick vein. It’s a harsh pain-pleasure, but a good one. Noct grins as Prompto’s cock twitches, precum beading at the tip. He chases the icy cold away with a flick of his tongue, swiping hot along the length of him, pausing to lap away the salty bitterness.

 

Noct’s fingers keep moving, swift and _pure evil,_ trailing the ice down over Prompto’s balls. Prompto hisses, trembling and jerking, his thighs spreading, and if he wants Noct to stop, he sure as hell isn’t saying it. Noctis takes it as a sign to keep going, and he trails the rapidly melting ice further back, water trickling down Prompto’s thighs. Prompto’s hips lift higher, and he struggles a little, but Noct’s gripping the bottom of his thighs and holding him there.

 

Prompto knows what’s coming – Noct can tell, by the sharp intake of breath, by the needy, desperate sound he makes. It’s encouraging, and it’s a rush of arousal going right through Noctis, heat rushing through his veins. His fingers dip into the cleft of Prompto’s ass, and they _both_ groan when the last bits of melting ice cube work over the tight ring of muscle. Prompto’s cock is twitching and he’s making _sounds,_ ridiculous, needy ones, his tail twitching and his hips jerking and ass pressing back into Noct’s cold fingers.

 

The ice is already fully melted by the time Noct’s fingers press inside, but his skin’s still cold, and Prompto’s so hot and tight around him. Two fingers twist up, hooking up into Prompto, spreading him open, and they’re both lost in it. Prompto’s eyes are open now, and they’re wild, locking on Noct’s, and for once, there’s no panic, no fear. He’s still trembling, and his skin’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat again—it might still be the fever, but Noct’s pretty sure it’s pure arousal now.

 

“Fuck, _Noct,_ stop teasing—” Prompto moans, his hips jerking, his cock drooling against his abdomen. Noctis always wants to draw it out, but he can never resist Prompto. He twists and spreads his fingers inside, and then he’s pulling out. Prompto’s still too hot to the touch, but the ice cooled him down a touch.

 

“C’mere,” Noct’s voice is thick as he presses his face into Prompto’s neck. Prompto sighs, and his arms wrap around Noct’s neck, and his thighs part further. There’s a moment of Noct simply pressed close, and then his hips pivot forward and he thrusts inside. They both gasp, the tight heat enveloping Noct, gripping him, pulling him deeper, and it makes his cock throb and leak inside.

 

Sometimes, their sex just _doesn’t_ work out. Prompto descends into panic, or his body just can’t quite keep up. Sometimes, Noctis worries that he’ll have to dive back into dreams again. This isn’t one of those times, though. Prompto’s too hot, feverish, but he’s panting for breath and whining as he lifts his hips up.

 

It’s rougher than it normally is, too. Normally, Noct’s terrified of hurting Prompto, that he can’t keep up. Prompto keeps _insisting_ he can, and right now, he’s all feverish and frenzied, desperately gripping for dear life as Noctis thrusts into him, pounding him into the mattress. Prompto can’t find the energy to curl a leg around Noct’s waist, but his thighs are spread wide, and his hips are lifting, and the angle is deep and good and rough. Each thrust has Noctis burying himself to the hilt, the rough sound of skin on skin filling the room. Prompto’s cock is trapped between their bellies, leaking sticky precum across Noct’s skin as Noct works over him, grinding his hips forward.

 

Prompto doesn’t last long; it’s been _too_ long since they’ve gone rough. It only takes Noct slipping a hand between their bodies to jerk his cock roughly in time with his thrusts, and Prompto’s coming with a harsh cry and a spurt of wetness. That heaviness is back in the air as the energy shifts around them, transferring between them, and Prompto gasps and breathes it in, and his one unharmed horn swirls and twists with vibrant colour.

 

Noct’s hips stutter and he’s gasping, thrusting forward and burying himself with a final rock of his hips as he follows Prompto over the edge, his own release bursting in his mind. The world goes blank, and there’s nothing except them, except Prompto’s tight heat gripping his throbbing cock as he spills inside. Prompto’s skin is wet with sweat and overheated beneath him, and he’s trembling as he rides the final throes of his orgasm. Noct’s face is buried in Prompto’s neck, and he realizes, vaguely, that he’s biting down, leaving harsh red marks behind.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto manages, after a moment, “Noct, you’re crushing me.”

 

Noctis laughs, and he withdraws in a mess. His body isn’t quite working right, as he rolls to the side, an arm tossed around Prompto’s messy, sticky belly. “… sorry.”

 

“S’okay,” Prompto laughs weakly. “I like it rough. I’m not delicate, Noct. I can handle it.”

 

“I know,” Noctis agrees. And he does know.

 

 

\---

 

Noct’s out hunting a while later, when it happens.

 

He’s in the middle of seducing some poor, innocent mortal. The details of that aren’t important. Noct’s heart really isn’t in this whole feeding on mortals thing anymore, anyway. He’s grateful he doesn’t need Nyx’s help, at least. It’s more fun when he can do it with Prompto, though, and hopefully they’ll be back to that soon. Hopefully.

 

It doesn’t matter. The poor guy took Noctis home, because of course he did – who wouldn’t want to, when a gorgeous incubus puts on the full seduction moves? He’s in the guy’s bed, lips working over heated skin, tracing the delicious ridge of clavicle as he works inside.

 

At first, Noctis doesn’t recognize the feeling. He mistakes it for arousal, and it’s a sudden, surprising rush. Noctis doesn’t really get off on humans anymore, not any more than necessary. But it’s a warmth blossoming in his chest, heavy and _welcoming._ It’s a warmth that feels familiar, even though Noct’s not sure why.

 

His hips slam forward, and the unnamed human – Noctis hadn’t bothered to catch his name – gasps out. Noct’s getting closer to the edge, and he’s eager to get it over with, to get home, and then—

 

It hits Noctis, and he realizes what the _feeling_ is. He knows, suddenly, why he feels warm and happy, why he fucking feels _complete,_ because it’s Prompto’s presence, making his heart thrum. There’s a faint headache throbbing in his temple, echoes of pain, but _that_ doesn’t matter, because it’s _Prompto._

Noctis barely even feels his orgasm, even as he’s working on pure muscle memory, milking the nameless mortal through their own release, the air thick with energy as he feeds. It’s somehow the most fucking satisfying meal Noct’s had in ages, even though it’s quick and sloppy, and his cock’s still half-hard and messy as he crawls out of the guy’s bed, throwing his clothes back on.

 

Noct’s not entirely sated, he’s still hungry, but that’s pushed aside, as he rushes back home. There’s no thought on his mind except _Prompto,_ and there’s a restlessness in his chest, too, because he knows Prompto feels it too. Noct _knows,_ and that’s the best fucking feeling. He hadn’t realized how empty he’d felt, how… incomplete. He’d been a half, searching for the missing piece of his soul, and it’s slid back into place, after a long absence.

 

Prompto’s waiting, when he gets there. He’s on the couch. Noct had left him in bed earlier, but Prompto’s gotten a little better at navigating, though he’s still clumsy, off-center and bumping into things. The door opens, though, and Prompto’s eyes lift, and Noct’s heart jumps all the way to his throat.

 

There’s a streak of purple in Prompto’s horns, both the normal one, and the shiny new stub that’s still regrowing. It’s not the same deep, vibrant stripe that it was, but it’s _there,_ faded, but clearly visible.

 

“Noct,” Prompto says, and his voice is a little shaky, his eyes all bright and wavering as they lock, and Prompto doesn’t flinch away from Noct’s gaze.

 

“Yeah, I feel it,” Noctis agrees, his heart thumping. Prompto’s heart is thumping, too, and they both smile, and Noctis knows they _both_ feel the euphoria rushing through them. They’re still imprinted. It never went away. It had simply needed time to heal, and now it’s _back,_ and they’re complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know where to find us. i've been slow on replying to messages/comments, i'm sorry, i had a car accident and someone i know died, so i've been stressed. but your comments mean a whole lot to us, as always, thank you for reading & we love any feedback we get. <3


	29. Episode Squishy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squishy is a good boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't follow me on Tumblr - a while back, I got a few asks requesting I do a Squishy POV bonus fic/side story.
> 
> I mentioned this to Numi and we laughed about it, and then we got an IDEA. And it was a beautiful idea, and it blossomed into this. Oh, it was FUN. 
> 
> Since we didn't post yesterday--we figured today is a good day to offer this up as a Bonus Post!
> 
> [HE'S SUCH A GOOD BOY.](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/924506263370604544)

Squishy is a good boy.

 

He gets told that every day, so it must be true, right? He has a nice, warm bed to sleep in, and a person who loves him very much. Well, technically, he has _two_ people, but he has a bit of a playful love-hate relationship with Noctis. Prompto is absolutely Squishy’s person though. There is no doubt of that.

 

Squishy, after all, has been searching for his person for a long time.

 

Right now, Squishy is curled up against Noct’s chest, but that’s just because he’s warmer than Prompto is. Squish likes heat. It makes him feel warm and happy inside, and he needs to conserve his energy, because his person has been having a hard time. It seems like the hard times are getting a little easier, but Squishy knows better. He knows that it isn’t that simple.

 

He might be a malboro, but Squishy’s been around for a while. His favourite things to do are to curl up against a warm body and nap, or to steal little shiny treasures and sneak them back to his nest. He appreciates harassing Noctis, and comforting Prompto, and going for walks. He _especially_ likes food. It’s a simple life.

 

It wasn’t always so simple. Squish knows some things. Squish has seen some things, too, and he has no way of _saying_ it, but it’s better that way. All he can do is offer up extra bits of love, tentacles curling around Prompto’s wrist and his multi-eyed gaze reassuring.

 

Squish is here for his person. He has to be.

 

\---

 

Normal malboros have pretty long lifespans, but they do age and get old.

 

It’s a good thing Squishy isn’t a normal malboro.

 

Squish learned very early on that he will never be big. He’s a tiny little creature, a pygmy malboro, and they are very rare. Since Squish will never be big, he has to get smart. And so, he becomes smart, and self-aware, and that makes him the _rarest_ malboro of all. It’s a good thing, because all his littermates are normal sized, quickly outgrowing him, and he’d make a very good snack. Squishy doesn’t want to be a snack, because he’s aware of there being so much more than the nasty old swamp he’s born in, so he leaves, before all other monsters can get him.

 

Squishy exists, and he has a _purpose._ He knows that from early on, that there’s a point to his existence.

 

He’s drawn to civilization, which is unusual for a malboro. His kind, even the smaller ones – though he is the _smallest_ – tend to keep to themselves. Humans are unsuspecting snacks, and the daemons? They’re enemies, ones that will enslave them or trap them or kill them and use their venom. Sex pollen is a very heavily traded black-market item, and Squish has picked up on a thing or two from his malboro elders before leaving.

 

There’s a _draw,_ though.

 

When someone is born _different,_ they question it constantly. It’s a driving force, a burning question of ‘what is my purpose’ that someone who is _normal_ will never truly understand on the same level. It goes beyond spirituality. It’s a driving, burning desire to matter, to be something, to understand _why._

 

Squishy has that feeling. He is small enough to sneak in the shadows, to sleep in dark places and curl up unseen. He could easily find a nice, quiet, private life, lurking on a farm and sleeping in hay bales and stealing scraps. His _purpose,_ though, it screams out to him, so he keeps moving. It’s dangerous, but he’s a powerful little guy, with venom and pollen and tentacles that are stubby, but strong and quick.

 

One day, Squishy finds his purpose, and everything changes.

 

He’s been drifting. He’s working his way through a city, when he encounters two figures. It seems like complete chance – Squish had been asleep behind some trash bins – but it’s probably fate. It seems like it’s important enough to be more than just happenstance.

 

Normally, Squishy would ignore the two walking through the empty, late-night street, but he senses their presence, and they aren’t _human._ They’re daemons, and powerful ones, too, and it sets Squishy immediately ill at ease. He doesn’t like daemons very much, and one of them is _definitely_ some form of incubus. The other is… trickier, Squishy doesn’t immediately understand the presence he’s feeling, but it’s… warm, and it feels right, and he immediately knows that this is his person.

 

There’s a thick fog rolling into the city, and it means Squish is going to have to find somewhere warm to go. His little tentacles are cold, and he’s shivering. Malboro don’t do well with cold, and Squish is small enough that it’s even harder for him to keep heat in. He’s out of his element here, too. But he can’t ignore the feeling he gets, so he follows the two daemons.

 

The taller one—Squishy immediately dislikes him. He’s got a hand on the base of the smaller one’s spine. Squishy is small. He’s quick and smart, but he’s still _small_ and that’s always a disadvantage. He feels naturally drawn to this daemon, and he feels, very intensely, that there’s some stupid power imbalance. That isn’t fair. If the little malboro wasn’t already _sure_ that this was his person, he’d still feel inclined to do something, to follow. He normally doesn’t meddle in the lives of daemons, it’s _dangerous,_ but Squish _knows_ that he’s found his person. He’s found a purpose.

 

“Do you know what you’re supposed to do?” the older, taller daemon is saying, in a lilting, silky-smooth voice.

 

The smaller daemon shrugs. He turns, and Squishy _knows_ that he’s different. He’s lithe, slender, shorter, but that’s not what Squishy is drawn to. Squish has seen incubi before. He’s narrowly avoided being captured by a couple of them. Some incubus turned daemon hunter had tried taking him down, but he’d managed to duck into a storm drain and avoid being captured.

 

This incubus (if that’s what he is—Squish isn’t entirely sure, still) has bright pink and blue horns, and eyes that swirl vibrant with emotion that incubi shouldn’t _have._ He is different. Squishy is different too, and he thinks he _understands_ that his purpose is to help this incubus. He’s trapped, and not by any obvious physical restraints, but by something that’s been done to his mind. He’s all twisted, and his eyes are screaming for help.

 

“I’m supposed… to learn to control my abilities,” the smaller, different incubus says, and his voice is dull, far-off, like he’s repeating back words that have been drilled into his head. They probably _have_ been. The fog seems to swirl around him, coalescing into a whirlwind, a swirling tornado of mist and icy cold.

 

“Yes,” the other daemon says, but his tone is clipped, icy and short, like he’s not pleased with that answer, “obviously, Prompto. But what, my dear boy, is your _purpose?”_

 

Squishy shrinks back as this taller daemon turns. He’s hiding in the shadows, and he’s a tiny little malboro, the most seemingly harmless of creatures. He’s too small to be a real threat, and his venom is extra concentrated, potent beyond that of a normal malboro, but most tend to _ignore_ that, because it’d be far easier to simply stomp him out with a boot.

 

And this other incubus? Squishy doesn’t like him. He instantly knows this is a bad daemon. His face is heavily lined, and his horns are massive, a deep, ugly purple-blue, with jagged, barbed curves and edges. He looks cruel, and the smile on his face is a malicious one, dripping with a sort of tangible evil.

 

The eyes, though. Squishy does _not_ like the man’s eyes. They’re amber, bright and vivid, like yellow-orange flames licking at his flesh. The little malboro shrinks back, and turns his eyes away, because there’s a very real fear that if he keeps looking at the incubus, he’ll be spotted here, lurking in the shadows, and he _doesn’t_ want to be caught.

 

The malboro almost misses the rest of the exchange.

 

He _doesn’t_ miss the emotion hanging thick in the smaller daemons’ voice, though. It’s barely there, hidden under the monotone response, but it’s _there,_ and it’s everything, and Squishy clings to it.

 

“My purpose? … I’m supposed to destroy the world, aren’t I?”

 

“That’s right!” the larger, cruel incubus says, and there’s delight in his voice, a malicious glee that Squishy hates.

 

Squishy, after all, doesn’t care much about people. _Humans_ are just a thing. Incubi? Eh, he doesn’t care one way or another. But Squishy is part of this world, and he doesn’t particularly want his own existence to snuff out.

 

And that emotion he’d heard? The strange incubus, the one who’s making the fog swirl, who’s got those strange, bright horns? It’d been hesitance in his voice. It had been… some small spark of resistance, some flicker of hope, and Squish _knows,_ even more intently, that this is his _person,_ and it’s his job to help him.

 

\---

 

It’s dangerous, nerve-wracking and terrifying for a little creature, but Squishy follows the pair. They’ve taken up residence in an old warehouse, on the outskirts of town. It’s a place designed to deter people from venturing near, creepy and delipidated, but Squish is a malboro and he’s drawn to places like that. He knows, on an instinctual level, that it’s dangerous, but this is his _purpose._ And so he follows, and he observes, and he learns a few things.

 

He never catches the larger daemon’s name, but he comes to learn of the younger, smaller one, as Prompto. Prompto refers to the older one as ‘sir.’ His moods seem to shift rapidly. Some days, Prompto is cruel, full of a strange cockiness that the older, terrifying daemon seems to find amusing. Other days, he’s almost downcast, and on those days, it rains and the air hangs thick with humidity. Squish wants to tell Prompto that it’s _okay_ to be different, that it doesn’t matter. He can’t talk though, and he’s _scared_ to get too close. He’s terrified, and so he simply watches, and he waits.

 

This strange incubus, Prompto, he isn’t trapped by traditional means, but the terrifying older one has control over him, to some degree. Squish knows this. He watches, and there’s a million opportunities where he could escape, days where he’s left _alone,_ while the other daemon feeds without him, and he’s not chained up. Squish doesn’t think the door is even locked. But Prompto doesn’t leave.

 

After a while, Squish begins to _understand_

“I created you,” the cruel daemon says, one day, with a lazy smirk. Squish doesn’t know where they go sometimes. Probably to hunt—sometimes, Prompto comes back covered in blood, and Squishy doesn’t like the look he gets those days. It’s as if there’s something in there that is being pushed down, that little flicker of emotion that Squish had been attached to suppressed even ore.

 

Today, there’s a streak of gore across Prompto’s face. That’s unnecessary. Squish has spent enough time watching from afar to make out all the details of his person. He’s got many eyes, but they aren’t designed to keep _watch_ like this. He can’t see as well during the day, either; his eyesight is designed for the dim lights of deep forests and swamps. But Squish has noticed Prompto has freckles, and they seem a nice, friendly feature. He doesn’t like seeing them all covered in blood and mess.

 

“You created me,” Prompto parrots back, and then he asks a question, “… why?”

 

That question seems to upset the other incubus. “Why? My _dear_ boy, I’ve told you, a thousand times! You’re going to be my weapon. You’re the _apocalypse,_ Prompto. That’s your purpose.”

 

“… my purpose,” Prompto agrees, and then he laughs, harshly, and his eyes narrow. “This world is a mess. It’ll be better when it’s all gone, you’re right.” He lifts a hand, swipes it through the smear of blood on his cheek, and his eyes swirl bright as he licks his fingers clean.

 

“You’re getting stronger. Soon,” the other incubus promises, with a cold hand gripping tight on Prompto’s shoulder. The malboro watches. Squishy doesn’t really _know_ despair. It’s just a foreign feeling for a malboro. But watching the glint in Prompto’s eyes, the possessive way the larger incubus digs his claws in, twisting into his skin, and the way they _smile_ at each other—he realizes he can’t do anything.

 

Squish can’t save the world. He’s just a tiny malboro.

 

That night, the tiny malboro decides to go find somewhere warm and cozy, far away from here to sleep. He’s been keeping watching, but he’s small and he’s got venom, but he can’t kill these incubi with that. Squishy’s been watching, and no good has come of this. He is helpless.

 

The terrifying, golden-eyed incubus is gone. Squish doesn’t know where he went, and he doesn’t care. Prompto is pacing, though. Squish has been living in the rafters of the old, abandoned warehouse, and he has to slither across a catwalk, down the side, wiggle open a loose window, and slip out.

 

Of course, this is the day that Squishy falls. He’s a bit clumsy by nature. He’s runty, and his tentacles are stumpy, and he loses his grip. He tumbles, and he flips in midair, like a cat, twisting around to land in a floppy heap on the floor, right in front of the restless, pacing incubus.

 

Squishy knows, instantly, that this is the end. Prompto’s been restless and bloodthirsty, and he’s a tiny creature. He lands with a gross, soft, _squishing_ sound – appropriate, given the name he hasn’t even technically been _given_ yet – and immediately, the incubus spins, his eyes locking onto him. The malboro prepares himself for the end, but he’ll _fight,_ and he draws himself up onto his tentacles, baring his sharp, fanged teeth, his many eyes narrowing as he hisses and tries to look larger than he is.

 

“… you’re not him,” the incubus says, though, and his voice isn’t spoken in the tone Squishy’s come to learn. The malboro doesn’t think he’s very good at figuring out what daemons, or humans, or anyone else, really, is thinking. He’s just a malboro, after all. But he’s figured out this Prompto. Maybe it’s because Prompto is _his person,_ and he knows this, or maybe just from watching for so long.

 

Squish is still on guard. He’s still raised himself up on his tentacles, poised to attack, to jump at his eyes, but Prompto lowers himself to his knees, tips his head to the side, and _looks,_ and Squishy sees a change in his expression, a strange flicker of _something_ cross his face.

 

“What are you?” Prompto asks. Squishy can’t reply, of course, but he makes a quiet gurgling hissing noise in response. He wiggles his tentacles, and even though he’s still drawn up and ready to attack, ready to try and _run,_ he lifts a tentacle out.

 

The incubus frowns, and his teeth tug at his lower lip, a bit of worry crossing his face. His horns are duller than they normally are, and the air is thick with tension, humidity hanging, growing rapidly. It’s going to be a wicked storm, and Squish wants to get to safety. He _wants_ to bring this incubus with him, but he’s not sure he can reach him—there’s _something_ holding Prompto back. That other daemon, some invisible chain that’s keeping him from being something more.

 

“Go,” Prompto says, abruptly. His eyes lock onto Squish’s many-eyes, and there’s _something_ there. It’s a connection, and the malboro is pretty sure that Prompto knows that he is Squish’s person. Just as Squish can sense the connection, it goes _both ways._ It’s a moment, and—

 

“Before I change my mind,” Prompto says, and the harshness returns to his voice. His hands are bloody, still, and his tail’s swishing nervously. Squish _knows_ he can’t push it, that he can’t reach the incubus—not _yet._ He’s cautious as he waddles to the wall, scaling it with his tentacles, pushing out a window, and then he’s _gone._

 

Squishy would like to say that he returns and brings the incubus Prompto with him. He’s small though, and he’s not very brave. He is small, and he’ll never be big, so he had to get _smart._ Smart and brave don’t go together, for creatures that are small and easily squashed by big, dangerous incubi with glowing yellow eyes and ugly horns.

 

Instead, Squish ventures into the nearby forest at the edge of town. He finds a warm hole in a tree to burrow in, and he eats small animals, poisoning them with his potent venom and devouring them with his tiny, sharp little fangs. A storm rolls in, and then _another,_ and there’s thunder and lightning and torrential rain, and Squish hates the cold, so he stays where it can’t get him.

 

One day, there’s a slight break in the weather, and Squish returns to check on Prompto. It’s not a dumb, brave choice. It’s foggy, and the wet, hot kind of humidity hangs in the air. He’s just going to get a look, and then he’s going to leave. It’s too dangerous to stay, and Squish can’t change anything, after all.

 

Except, when he scales up the wall of the building, sneaking into a vent and wiggling his way to the rafters of the high ceiling, there’s only one incubus there, and it’s _not_ Prompto. It’s the large, terrifying one, and he’s _mad._ He’s rambling angrily, his eyes wild and violent, dripping black ichor, limbs twisted in terrifying ways, all clawed and gnarled.

 

Prompto is gone. Squish’s incubus has _left._ He must have gone far away, because Squishy doesn’t know where he is; he can’t sense him.

 

This has to be a good thing. It has to, right?

 

Squish turns and gets the hell out of there, because he doesn’t like the other incubus. He’s terrified, honestly. He retreats the forest, and eventually, he’ll decide to take chase, to find his person, because now that Prompto’s gotten away? Maybe Squishy can find him, and he can take care of him the way he knows he has to. It’s instinct.

 

If Squish was more familiar with incubi, with _emotions_ that are human, he’d realize that it’d been a flicker of _humanity_ on Prompto’s face. It’d been showing a moment of mercy for a small creature, and it’s the _first_ time Prompto’s ever thought kindly on anything, ever.

 

It’d changed something in, and Squishy doesn’t know that, but he doesn’t _need_ to know. The smallest of creatures can change the fate of an entire world, though, and today? Squish did just that, totally oblivious to it all.

 

\---

 

Squishy's a malboro, and he doesn't really have that good a grasp on the passage of time. He doesn't seem to age, either. Normal malboros have long life spans to begin with and Squish--well, he's different. He's _different,_ and in more than the obvious, physical ways.

And so, Squish exists.

 

At first, he tries to find Prompto again. The incubus is gone, though, and Squish knows he needs to find him again, _someday,_ and maybe that's why he doesn't get any older. He doesn't get any bigger, either, but he does get a bit smarter.

 

Squish could live a happy, peaceful life in the forest, but that doesn't get him any closer to finding his person, and so he scrounges for food in the city. He scavenges trash from garbage bins, and he hunts birds when he gets the chance, his tentacles wriggling and constricting, poison shooting down whatever prey he can find. It's not much of a life.

 

For a while, Squish lives in a cardboard box. The rainy season comes, though, and there's brutal storms, and it washes his box away into a mess of soggy cardboard. So Squish moves on. Time passes, seasons change, one after the other, until they're countless, until they've lost all meaning.

 

Squish lives in someone's attic for a while, until he gets into a fight with a family of lazy, fat raccoons, and they chase him off. He moves into a crawlspace under a big restaurant, and that's his favourite, because there's plenty of leftovers to eat. Squishy gets a little fat, a bit complacent, but he _never_ forgets his purpose. Some day, he is going to find his incubus again, he'll find _Prompto,_ and the malboro doesn't know why, but everything will make so much more sense when he does.

 

After a couple of decades, the restaurant closes down. It's a sad day, and Squish experiences _sorrow,_ or at least, as much as a malboro can, because he's spent years building up his nest, from soft, discarded rags, from stolen articles of clothing, and shiny coins and pieces of glass and buttons that people have lost or dropped over the years. The building falls into disrepair, and one day, it catches fire. Squishy barely escapes, retreating on wobbly little tentacles into the city as the smoke fills the air and the flames lick the brick and his old home crumbles into nothing but charred stone and smoldering ruins.

 

There's other homes, over the years, too. Trees in parks, old, moldy dumpsters that nobody pays any attention, several lucky times living in crawl spaces under houses or underneath back porches. And in the times in between, Squish lives in cardboard boxes. He weathers out more than one snowstorm over the years, curled up in a makeshift nest of grass and hay and any soft, warm thing he can find to insulate the soggy, soft cardboard.

 

Squishy is convinced that he'll still find Prompto someday, but after... well, _countless_ years, the malboro isn't quite so sure anymore. He starts to dream little malboro-dreams of forests, of deep, humid swamps, with hot, stagnant pools, and lots of fish and lizards and other slimy, tasty things to hunt and eat. He'll never be welcome, back where he came from, where his siblings have probably all grown big and fat and died off a good century or two ago, but there have to be other swamps, right?

 

Every time Squish decides to leave, though, an unnatural storm always seems to brew in the sky, and he finds himself trapped in his box, weathering out lashing rain and horrendous thunder and lightning, or horrible hail storms, pellets of ice the size of golf balls preventing the little malboro from leaving.

 

The harsh weather _always_ reminds the malboro of those fateful days, so many years ago, when he had _found_ Prompto, and it's a reminder that he has a purpose. Squishy is a good boy. He is a _good_ malboro, and he will keep looking, and so he stays, through his miserable existence, half-starving and smelly and discontent.

 

One day, Squishy makes a mistake.

 

He's spent a _long_ time in the city without getting caught. He's always managed to hide in the shadows, to keep low-key and unseen by humans who have no idea he even _exists._ Malboros exist on the other side of reality, somewhere between the human world and the shadow world of daemons. There have been run-ins with incubi over the years, yes, but Squish has always gotten away, has always found a safe place to scurry and hide.

 

Today, Squish had a good meal. He doesn't get a real meal very often. He's hiding under a park bench, and someone leaves a full meal unguarded on a picnic blanket nearby. Squish sees his opportunity, and he goes in, and the entire fried chicken meal is _his._ It leaves the little malboro feeling fat and lazy and slow, and that's his downfall.

 

Squish is hiding in the shadows underneath the bench, and he doesn't sense the presence of a daemon until it's too late. Suddenly, there's a _net_ around him, and it's not a regular, human-type netting, made from flimsy rope. It's the type that daemon poison can't burn through, and Squish's strong little tentacles flail helplessly as he's caught up.

 

"Well, look at _you,"_ a voice says, with a cheerful, upbeat accent. Squish's eyes have adjusted over the years. He's gotten better at seeing through the sunshine. It's early evening, but the sky is still bright enough that his wobbly eyes on their stalks have a _bit_ of trouble. A very pleased looking creature is staring back at Squish. He's glamoured to look human, but Squish _knows_ better, and he knows he's been caught.

 

"You're a rare little guy. Looks like you're fully grown, but you're _tiny..._ you'll sell for a small fortune," the daemon says.

 

Squishy doesn't know the inner workings of this part of the daemon world; he's just a malboro. He's going to be taken to auction, and sold to the highest buyer. Most of the daemons in the shadowy underworld, especially ones frequenting a black market auction, want their pets for... less than _noble_ reasons.

 

That part doesn't need to mentioned, though. Daemons are fucking weird.

 

All that Squish knows is that he's away. He's caged up, and at least, for once in his life, he's well-fed, though the food isn't the greatest quality. A lot of it is pellets, and the birds and rats they throw him are _already dead,_ cold and lifeless, and Squish has to wonder, what's the point? If he wanted to eat dead food, he'd go for the mortal kind, the dead animals that are breaded and fried in oil. Squish has been around for enough centuries to know that humankind makes the _best_ food.

 

Squish is stored in a shop, for a while. It's dark here, at least, and he spends most of his days sleeping.

 

He's realizing, of course, that he's trapped. He's _never_ going to find his person.

 

Squish is smart. He's not smart enough to get out, though. He'd tried picking the lock, and he'd nearly slithered out of his cage, so they simply came up with a better, malboro-proof cage. If there was a human emotion to describe the malboro, it would be inevitable _depression,_ because he can't get out.

 

Squishy won't fulfill his purpose.

 

He's destined to live as a weird pet for someone, likely entrapped in glass and caged for the rest of his tiny life.

 

Squishy wonders, with fragmented, malboro thoughts, if this is how Prompto had felt, when he'd found him, all those years ago. Had that warehouse been a cage, and the key had been in his mind, hidden behind that strange control the scary incubus had kept over him?

 

Except, of course, for Squishy, there's no secrets in the back of his mind getting him out of here.

 

Sometimes people come in and look around. There's other creatures stored in cages here, too. There's some dog-like daemons, some spiny creatures, and there's even another malboro, though it's _much_ larger, and far more ferocious. Squish, in comparison, is docile, even though every time someone approaches, Squish hisses and gathers himself up and spits poison at the glass wall of his cage. He tries his _best_ to look dangerous and terrifying. Most daemons simply look amused, and intrigued, until they check a little tag next to his tank, then they roll their eyes and move on.

 

One day, an incubus comes in who doesn't seem quite like the rest.

 

Maybe Squishy doesn't give himself enough credit. He's pretty good at figuring out daemonic presences, and the merits behind him. This particular incubus doesn't seem quite so cruel as the others do. The glass makes it hard for Squish to see, to get a good glimpse, but the incubus in question has dark hair, bright purple, spiraled horns, and...

 

Squish is immediately reminded of old memories, when the incubus stops in front of his cage, leaning down, hands on his knees as he peers in. His eyes are _amber,_ bright and vivid and swirling, and Squishy is reminded, immediately, of the cruel incubus from his past, the one that had known his person.

 

Is there a connection?

 

Squishy hates that cruel incubus, and he's hissing, spitting venom at the wall and tensing his tentacles, waving them menacingly, his many-eyes narrowing on their stalks. He doesn't like this incubus, or so he thinks, but--

 

Two thoughts go through Squish's tiny little malboro mind. First- what if this incubus can lead him to Prompto?

 

Second, even though his eyes are amber, even though they're so reminiscent of that daemon he hates so much, there's a different expression in them. This incubus is fascinated by him, yes, and... maybe even _kind._ Squishy remembers his brief interaction with Prompto, all those years ago, the mercy and faintest flicker of kindness, and he feels it here, too.

 

"Prom would love you," the incubus says, quietly, and Squish _understands_ that. Prom--could it be?

 

Squishy lowers his guard just a little. His tentacles relax, and his eyes don't look quite so angry. He tentatively waddles from the back corner of his cage, shuffling closer, staring the incubus down.

 

"Shit, you're _expensive,"_ the incubus groans, checking the little tag. "Fuck, I bet you've been here for ages, huh?"

 

Squishy isn't sure how long he's been here, honestly, but it feels like a _lifetime._ He's bored, in this awful cage, with nothing to do, and nobody to see. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He certainly doesn't want to be anyone's pet, but... well, _anything_ seems better than being trapped here.

 

"Whatever. It's worth it. You want to come home with me? I've got a friend. His name's Prompto. He... could use some help. You think you could keep him company?"

 

_Prompto. That name._

 

Squish lifts a tentacle up and presses it up against the glass. The incubus laughs a little, and pokes at the glass on his side with a finger, right up against the tip of Squish's tentacle. "Guess that's a yes. Alright, I'll bankrupt myself, wonder why the hell they're asking so much money..."

 

The incubus straightens, and rubs at the back of his head, and starts to walk away, presumably to find the dumb daemon who's holding Squish captive and feeding him every day. Squish hears him mumble, "... oh. Tentacles. Duh. That's why they're charging so much. _Gross."_

 

Squish doesn't understand what that means. But he doesn't care. He's going _home._

 

\---

 

Squish figures out that this incubus is called Noctis.

 

He also learns that the store owner is a fucking dirty liar. He tells Noctis that Squishy is a _baby._ Squish knows that word, and he also knows that when he was a baby, he lived in a swamp. He's grown old with the world, he’s seen civilizations grow and change, technology…

 

That’s beside the point though.

 

Noctis stops at a store, and gets Squishy a little stuffed bird toy. Squishy wants to be offended – he is a proud and noble _malboro –_ but when he bites his fangs into it, it _squeaks,_ and he is very entertained. This is a nice offering, worthy of him, Squish decides.

 

Besides, the place Noctis takes him to? It’s warm, and cozy, and he wraps him up in a nice, thick, fluffy towel, one that Squishy is already planning to drag to his nest.

 

It’s acceptable, Squishy decides. Noctis leaves him there, in this room, on a soft bed, and Squish has no desire to leave. He simply squirms around and chews on this damned bird toy, and he’s pleased by the obnoxious squeaking sounds it makes.

 

Then, Squishy hears a _voice._

It’s a voice he’s been waiting to hear for a very long time.

 

“… I’m gonna kill you, Noct,” the voice is saying, and Squishy blinks his many eyes and wiggles his tentacles and tries to right himself, but he’s all wrapped up and coiled on his back, his tentacles flailing and holding his toy steady as he gnaws on it.

 

“It’s not, I promise,” the other, newer voice is saying.

 

“… is that a malboro? Noct, those are _rare.”_

Squishy goes very still. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s been searching his whole life for Prompto, and this is his voice. There’s a bit more talking, but Squish isn’t paying any attention to that. He’s distracted by this damn _toy,_ cursed incubi are playing tricks on him! But the bed shifts, and Squishy rolls over. His eyes wander, and yes, this is the same incubus from all those years before.

 

It’s the same horns, different than any other. It’s the same eyes, too, though Squishy realizes, as Prompto looks at him, that all that former cruelty is _gone._ There’s—well, there’s a good deal of sadness. There’s sorrow, there’s a feeling of being _different,_ but some of that kindness Squish had sensed in Noctis? That’s there too.

 

Squish crawls into Prompto’s arm. And, for good measure, to remind Prompto that he is _his_ person, Squish sinks his fangs in and bites him, _hard._

“No! Squishy, _no,_ we don’t bite!” Prompto scolds, wincing and prying him away.

 

Squishy?

 

That’s his name, Squish realizes. He has a name, and this is his _person,_ and this is his _family,_ and he has finally found his purpose. Noctis had told him his purpose, Squishy realizes in that moment: it’s to keep Prompto happy, and safe, and to keep him company. The little malboro has been searching for this purpose all these years, and he will take it very seriously.

 

He will protect Prompto with his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...... so yeah this might have been important but yall figured that out already huh? 8) 
> 
> See ya tomorrow!


	30. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's finally recovered enough to have some fun~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29.  
> The burn out is REAL today. We were just like "we need to go back to kink for a bit" cuz the plot isn't being resolved by month's end anyway, so.   
> One of the Kinktober prompts for today was overstimulation and y'all know that's my jam, so I couldn't resist.  
> Oh, and more Prompto in a costume lmao. <3

Noct’s gotta admit, Prompto’s made damn good progress.

 

His horn’s not fully regrown yet, but it’s well on the way. He’s _mostly_ stopped bumping into walls, too, even though doorways still give him trouble at times. He’s been taking Prompto with him on hunts again, too, though they stay close to home, and Nyx and Luna are always nearby. But it’s helped. All things considered, it’s something of a miracle that Prompto’s recovering so quickly, and being able to properly hunt is helping.

 

Noct’s still terrified, though, when Prompto wants to go out _without_ him.

 

“Nyx is gonna come with me,” Prompto explains for what feels like the thousandth time, “it’s _fine,_ Noct. We’re together literally every single moment of our lives, and Nyx is gonna keep me safe.”

 

Noctis _knows_ this. He’s still not happy.

 

\---

 

It would figure, of course, that the first thing Prompto does when he’s finally able to (mostly) get around on his own again is to go do something… well, stupid and entirely _Prompto._ Noctis doesn’t wanna admit that he’d been terrified and fretted to Luna the entire time, but maybe he’d done that. Either way, Noct’s relieved when Prompto comes home.

 

The door opens, and Prompto carefully curls a hand around the doorframe to balance himself as he steps in.

 

Noct looks up from his phone. He’d been in the middle of a text war with Luna. He’s sitting on the couch, and he blinks at the sight of his idiot boyfriend.

 

“He’s all yours,” Nyx says with a roll of his eyes, and he slams the door and stalks off as soon as Prompto’s inside, and Noctis absolutely _stares,_ because of course Prompto’s wearing a dumb costume. Of-fucking-course he is.

 

“Yarr?” Noct teases, tipping his head, dragging his eyes appreciatively down Prompto’s body. He’s got one of those slutty pirate costumes, with a tight, corset-like top that shows off a good deal of chest and midriff, a short, floppy skirt, and a pair of thigh-high boots. He’s got a pirate hat jauntily propped up on his head, and Squish is sitting on his shoulder, with stupid little cardboard wings attached to him.

 

“Yarr,” Prompto agrees, stepping closer, slow and careful, as he walks on his stiletto boots. There’s a little bit of a wobble to his step, but his horn’s finally got some curl to it, and it’s actually _looking_ more like a horn now, instead of a sad little stump.

 

“Is Squishy supposed to be your parrot?” Noctis eyes the malboro skeptically. Squishy is wiggling his tentacles and prying one of the cardboard wings off, tugging it towards his fanged mouth. “He’s trying to eat his wing.”  


_“Squish!”_ Prompto grumbles, and he reaches to refasten Squishy’s wing. “Whatever. I’ve been stuck in bed for _ages,_ Noct, and that store I like was having a sale…”

 

“Clearly,” Noct’s eyeing the costume, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll be that difficult to get off, at least. “So, you wanna go back to bed?”

 

Prompto laughs, and he reaches down, tangling his fingers in Noct’s shirt. His free hand balances on Noct’s thigh – keeping balance is gonna be harder for some time longer – and Prompto pulls Noct in for a kiss. Their lips meet, harsh and fierce, and Prompto’s teeth drag at Noct’s lower lip, making him moan.

 

“Mmm. There’s booty to plunder in bed, I hear,” Prompto teases, straightening again. “C’mon, Noct.”

 

“That is the _lamest_ thing you’ve ever said,” Noct points out, but he’s absolutely jumping up off the couch to follow.

 

They’re barely in the bedroom when Prompto’s hands are on Noctis again. The stilettos give him a bit of a height advantage, and Noct likes it—it’s hot. Prompto’s head dips down and the kiss is hot and needy, and then he’s being _shoved,_ stumbling backwards to settle heavily on the bed.

 

Prompto looks pleased with himself. Squishy seems to figure out where things are going, and he’s clambering down off Prompto’s shoulder, wings still half-fastened and trailing behind him as he flops to the floor and scurries off to watch from some dark corner.

 

“You’re in a mood,” Noctis comments, laughing, when Prompto saunters to the end of the bed, giving Noct’s shoulders a firmer push. Noctis lets him take the lead, settling further back against the bed, and he breaks eye contact only long enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

 

“I told you,” Prompto replies, tipping his head to the side, hip jutting out at an angle, and the way the skirt is cut, it shows off a good bit of thigh, “I’ve been _bored._ ”

 

Prompto lifts a heeled foot and rests it on the edge of the bed, leaning forward. The angle’s even _nicer_ now, and he’s totally not wearing anything under the goddamn skirt. Noct hisses, and reaches down, palming his cock through his pants.

 

“Surprised you can even _walk_ in those damn heels,” Noctis adds, a bit of a tease, laughing under his breath, “you can barely even walk straight.”

 

“Noctis!” Prompto grumbles, but he doesn’t sound _that_ offended, more good-naturedly than anything else. “Jerk. I’m gonna step on your face if you don’t shut up.”

 

Noctis can’t help but _moan_ a little at the thought of that. It’s been… a while since they’ve been good and properly kinky. Recovery has just taken a while, and even if Prompto’s gotten better much faster than they all anticipated, it’s still been a long time. Their sex had been slow and careful to start, and they’ve started delving back into the _fun_ stuff, but… hell.

 

“You can step on my face if you want to,” Noctis offers, eyes narrowing.

 

Prompto rolls his eyes, and he crawls onto the bed, and works his way up, on his hands and knees, eyes narrowed as he looks at Noctis, as if he’s honing on a prey. He _is,_ in a way.

 

“It’s not as fun if you _ask_ for it, y’know,” Prompto murmurs, crawling over Noctis, straddling his waist. His legs press into Noct’s sides, and the sharp point of the stiletto heel presses _just_ into Noct’s thigh, just a bit of a sharp burst of pain. It’s all teasing, but fuck, it’s got Noct’s breath catching in his chest.

 

They’ve worked through a surprising amount of things, while Prompto was hurt. Their imprint is _back,_ and Noct’s so goddamn appreciative of that particular fact. He can feel Prompto’s presence warm in his chest, and when Prompto looks at him? The fear is finally gone, the tear subsided, their sheer natures pushed aside in favour of the fact that they love each other.

 

“So,” Noct says, because he’s got a _thought_ in mind, a particularly nice one at that, “you gonna fuck me?”

 

Prompto’s breath catches, and he leans forward, properly straddling Noct’s waist, one heel twisting and pressing into his thigh a little harder. There’s a wobbly moment where Noct has to lift a hand to steady Prompto because he loses his balance and looks like he’s going to fall face-first, but he doesn’t. One hand settles warm across Noct’s chest, the other strokes through his hair, and Prompto’s breath is hot against Noct’s lips.

 

“Eventually,” Prompto replies, “if you beg for it.” He tips his head to the side and grins and the floppy hat falls lopsided across his head. There’s a stupid, oversized feather jutting out of it, and Noctis has to laugh at how stupidly appealing Prompto looks.

 

“Might beg, if you’re lucky,” Noctis replies, giving Prompto’s hip a squeeze. Prompto responds by digging his heel in a little harder, and they both laugh.

 

“Asshole,” Prompto grumbles, and then he’s pressing their lips together, stealing a rough, needy kiss. It has need surging immediately through Noctis; it’s been a _long_ time since Prompto’s properly been in control. For a long while, it would’ve freaked Noctis out. Now though? It’s hot, having Prompto pinning him down against the bed. One hand’s stroking through his hair, and when his fingers curl around the base of Noct’s horn, thumb rubbing over the ridged edge, Noctis shudders into the kiss.

 

“Fuck,” Noct mumbles, when Prompto breaks, after a lazy tug of teeth against his bottom lip. The other incubus laughs, and it’s a pleased sound, rough with arousal, as Prompto’s lips work over his jaw. His fingers are stroking along Noct’s horn in slow, steady strokes of his fingers. Noct’s not as sensitive here as Prompto as, not by far, but it still feels _good._ Fuck, the sheer intimacy of the moment takes Noct’s breath away, and it’s spreading heat through him that’s part arousal, part sheer _affection._

“You’ve been taking care of me,” Prompto points out, quietly, with a lopsided smirk quirking his lips up, “think it’s time I get to have some fun, huh, Noct?”

 

Noctis doesn’t bother to point out the obvious, that Prompto was _hurt,_ because Prom’s horn still isn’t fully regrown, and they both know it. He looks _good,_ though, most of his former energy rebounded in full force. The colour’s returned to both of their horns now, too, as vibrant as ever. Noctis sighs, tipping his head, admiring the streak of purple in Prompto’s horns.

 

Prompto, in response, runs his fingers slow and delicate over the streak of pink that runs over the spirals of Noct’s horn, all the way from base to tip. Noctis shudders again, and his cock is already straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing into Prompto’s ass where he’s straddling him.

 

“Don’t pirates plunder and destroy everything?” Noctis points out. They would know, after all; they’ve been around long enough to _remember_ those days proper.

 

Prompto shrugs, and straightens, just for a moment, drawing his fingertips away from Noct’s horn. “Guess I’m a shitty pirate then,” he laughs, and he tugs the pirate hat off his head, playfully tossing it at Noct’s face. Noctis grumbles and lifts a hand, setting the hat aside, and he’d reply, but Prompto’s going back in for kisses again.

 

This time, Prompto’s lips don’t linger on Noct’s. Instead, he kisses over his jaw, to the shell of his ear, nibbling and teasing, before working slow, open-mouthed kisses up Noct’s cheek. He pauses to kiss the corner of his eye – an oddly tender moment – and then up further, over his forehead, and into the soft tousles of his mussed hair.

 

“ _Prom,”_ Noctis sighs, and then Prompto’s shifting again, bracing a hand on the mattress next to Noct’s head as he kisses into his hair. Noct’s head tips to the side, allowing the other incubus more room, but the sigh quickly turns into a sharp gasp, because Prompto’s pressing soft kisses into the flared base of his horn, fingers combing through his hair and brushing it out of the way.

 

It feels _good._ Noct’s damn well aware that Prompto’s horribly sensitive here. Prompto doesn’t touch his horns all that often, though, and Noctis maybe hadn’t realized how sensitive _he_ is too. There’s little shivers of pleasure racing down his spine, and it’s going straight between his thighs, to his growing erection. There’s a steady warmth spreading, making his breath quicken and his cheeks flush and his chest heave.

 

“You totally like this,” Prompto mumbles, laughing, and then he’s _licking_ up the spiral of Noct’s horn, in slow, steady drags of heat over the ridged curves. He’s chasing the little stripe of pink, Noctis knows instinctively.  That, somehow, just makes him feel better. They’d struggled so much to get _here,_ to become comfortable with the imprint, and Noctis loves that damn streak of colour. It reminds him of Prompot; fuck, it’s a _part_ of Prompto, burning bright in him.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, breathlessly, as Prompto’s fingers massage the base of his horn, tongue teasing the sharp, pointed tip. _That_ sends a sudden, startling surge of arousal all through, and Noct, damnit, hadn’t even realized he was so sensitive there, until Prompto’s lips are closing around the tip of his horn and suckling on it, slow and lazy, tongue swirling around the appendage with teasing curls.

 

Prompto seems pleased, and his hips rock back, his ass grinding into the swell of Noct’s half-hard cock. The skirt’s all ridden up, and Prompto’s not wearing anything underneath, and feeling the soft press of exposed ass through the fabric of his pants just makes it even _better._

 

Fuck, Noct’s been craving having Prompto like this, back to his normal self. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed it until now.

 

“Bet I could get you off on this,” Prompto purrs, as he draws his lips away, and there’s a wicked smile on his lips. Noctis glares playfully, but he doesn’t disagree. There’s really no denying it, because his cock’s throbbing, trapped in his pants, and when Prompto nuzzles his cheek into Noct’s horn again, there’s another little tremor wracking his body.

 

“Probably,” Noctis agrees, as lazily as he can manage, and he tries to pretend that he’s not so fucking hot for the idea that his erection is twitching to full arousal. Prompto absolutely sees right through him, the little shit, cuz he’s laughing and shifting to the other horn, and he _totally_ makes a point of grinding the swell of his ass back against Noct’s cock when he does.

 

Noctis hisses, and then he _moans,_ because Prompto’s tongue is swirling around the thick base of his other horn. His fingers trace over it, along the curve, and he chases his fingertips with a flick of tongue. It's all lazy, wet strokes that follow the streak of pink, and it's spreading more of those sparks of heat all through Noct. It's going straight to his cock, and he's rocking his hips up, damn well aware that Prompto knows _exactly_ what he's doing.

 

"You _are_ gonna get off on this," Prompto purrs, pausing to lay wet, open-mouthed kisses right along the curve of Noct's horns. His tongue is running over the ridges, and his fingers are still stroking, long, sweeping strokes that go base to tip, tracing the spirals all the way to the pointed end, then back to the base.

 

Noctis hates that Prompto is right. He doesn't hate it _that_ much though. He's absolutely done this to Prompto before, and he's reduced the other incubus into a moaning, oversensitive mess from horn stimulation. Noct's never quite been on the receiving end this badly, but hell, it's not necessarily bad. And, given how his erection is throbbing, the head leaking heavy beads of precome? He doesn't really care that he's going to make a mess of his pants.

 

"Don't stop," Noctis says, instead. His fingers are shaking as they sweep through Prompto's hair, tugging his face in closer. His other hand's fisted in the sheets, and Noct shifts his grip, digging his fingers into the delicious bit of revealed skin on Prompto's hip, just above the low-hanging skirt, thumbing over the piercings there.

 

Prompto doesn't reply, but he laughs, and even the little bit of vibration is hot and makes Noct's head buzz, makes him feel a little lightheaded and goddamn _needy._ His lips keep chasing that streak of pink, all the way to the end of Noct's horn, and his lips close around the pointed tip, his tongue teasing the edge with talented little back-and-forth motions, curling and licking in hot stripes.

 

Noct's hips jerk up again, and his cock is aching, throbbing, as he grinds up against Prompto's ass. Fuck, he wants _more,_ but all Prompto's doing is laughing again - more vibrations chasing through him, spreading impossible heat and growing _need -_ and grinding back against his cock, giving him more friction. It's still not _enough,_ though.

 

"You look good like this, y'know," Prompto murmurs, as he pulls his lips away with a lewd, popping noise that shouldn't sound as goddamn _dirty_ as it does. "Fuck, Noct, you want it _bad._ Pretty hot."

 

Noctis knows Prompto loves to run his mouth. Fuck, Noct does too, when their roles are usually so very reversed. Right now, though? This is fucking hot, too. There's a strange jolting feeling, somewhere deep down, at the thought of Prompto properly _dominating_ him. It brings Noctis back--and for a moment, he's almost pulled away from the scene. For a moment, he's almost remembering old, vague memories, of Prompto losing control, of being weak and exhausted and half-dead...

 

Then Prompto's tongue swirls around the tip of his horn again, though, and Noctis gasps, and he's back _here_ again. Prompto reaches a hand back, a little awkward, and there's a silly moment where he almost loses his balance, and they both laugh under their breaths, but it solidifies the scene once more, and they're together, so far away from the past.

 

"Totally smooth," Noctis teases, as Prompto straightens again, but he can't quite keep it together, and his voice hitches and his breath catches again, as Prompto licks his horn, as he reaches back to awkwardly push Noct's pants down his hips. Noctis lifts up, and he sighs when his cock is drawn free.

 

"Shut up, Noct," Prompto teases, and then he's rocking his ass down again. Noctis gasps, as his cock nestles in the smooth cleft of Prompto's ass, dragging against perfect, heated skin. The tip is wet, leaving smears of precome over Prompto's skin, and they _both_ sigh.

 

Somehow, that's just even hotter.

 

Noct's muscles are going all tense, and he's starting to feel overheated. There's sweat beading on his skin, and his mind is starting to go all red and fuzzy around the edges, and all he can think about is _more._ His hips are jerking up on their own volition, and he wants to get _inside,_ but he knows Prompto won't let him. The loose, flowing fabric of the stupid little short pirate skirt Prompto is wearing feels good, draped over his upper thighs and his hips and teasing his balls when Prompto lifts up and grinds back down. And goddamn, that _tongue,_ worshipping his fucking horn, playing with it and driving Noctis insane-- it's too much.

 

It's still a goddamn surprise when suddenly, Noct's whole body is tensing up, his vision going white and the world exploding around him when his cock twitches and jumps and he spurts a heavy mess right over Prompto's ass and down along his thighs. Noctis tosses his head back, and Prompto laughs and follows him, pressing more messy kisses over his horns as he works him through his orgasm.

 

It _hurts,_ and it's too much, and Noctis rides out his orgasm, but he can't get any release, as Prompto keeps teasing him. Those touches to his horns are absolute _shocks,_ hotwired directly to his aching cock. Noct's throbbing with need, even as he spurts a little more release, even as it drips down to settle in the crease of Prompto's thighs and ass.

 

"Stop--Prom, _fuck,"_ Noctis manages, and Prompto slowly, lazily, lifts his head away from the horn he's torturing. He settles back, putting his weight on Noct's hips, the head of his still half-hard cock wet and messy as it settles in the cleft of his ass again.

 

Prompto looks _very_ goddamn pleased with himself, as he drags his fingers away from Noct's horn, trails them feather-light down his face, cupping his cheek, and then drifting lower, along the curve of jaw, and right down the very center of Noct's chest.

 

"You look _good_ like this, Noct. You're still talking back, though. Think that means you need a nice, hard fuck."

 

Prompto smirks, and Noct's cock jumps to life again, immediately - fuck being an incubus - and he _wants_ it, even though he's still riding out the high of orgasm. Even though Noct's chest is still heaving, his heart pounding, his thighs clenching and his muscles twitching, he shudders and forces himself up onto his elbows as Prompto lazily lifts up again, and settles further back, between Noct's thighs.

 

Noctis really _did_ make one hell of a mess. His half-hard cock is twitching still, messy with his release, and Prompto's skirt has dark stains all over where it'd rubbed through the mess. Prompto's eyes are bright, though, and he lifts up onto one knee, putting on a show as he toys with the band of the little skirt. Noctis takes in the sight greedily, and he's _very_ pleased with the dark little stain right over the tip of Prompto's cock, and the way he can see the outline, visible through the loose fabric.

 

"Real question," Prompto mumbles, lifting his skirt up, in a slow, playful bit of striptease, revealing his aching arousal, his balls drawn tight, a delicious little glisten of wetness beading at the tip of his cock, "do I leave the costume on?"

 

Fuck. Just when Noct thinks he's about to figure out how to breathe again, Prompto goes and says things like _that._

 

_"_ Leave it on," Noctis groans, and Prompto's smirk widens, eyes glinting mischievously.

 

"I love you for a reason, Noct," Prompto laughs, and then he's moving in again, grabbing one of Noct's legs and tugging it _up,_ over his shoulder. Noctis groans, but he doesn't complain - the angle leaves him wide open, _exposed,_ and he spreads his other leg further, the muscles in his thighs complaining as his hips arch up, his ass lifting up off the bed in a delicious tease.

 

"Stop getting romantic and _fuck me,_ " Noctis groans, his cock twitching on his belly, a new, thin strand of precome oozing out and pooling on his stomach, gathering between the ridge muscle.

 

Prompto doesn't need to be told twice. Or, well, _maybe he does,_ becaues he's still teasing. He's shifting his grip on Noct's thigh, hooking his leg up higher over his shoulder, and two fingers reach back, streaking through the mess Noct's made over his ass and thighs. His fingers are teasing, slow and steady, as Prompto moves back in, tracing over the rim of Noct's ass.

 

"We haven't done this in a while. Should probably take it _slow,"_ and Prompto's totally teasing. Not for the first time this night, all Noct can think is, _the little shit._

 

"Prom," Noctis tries to say in a warning voice, but Prompto's working two fingers into his ass, crooking them and tugging up against his prostate, and the world goes a little fuzzy. Everything fades away, except how _good_ it feels. And it does feel fucking good. Incubi are designed to go again and again like this, but--well, it's been a while. Their sex has been on the _vanilla_ side, and they'd given up on seeking anything really kinky from mortals shortly after finding each other, anyway. It's been a while, and maybe Noct's body has forgotten just what they actually _are._

 

Either way, he's gasping and his erection is jumping on his belly as Prompto cruelly twists and presses into his prostate, again and again, little bursts of pleasure that Noct can barely even handle. He'd just gotten off, and already he's barreling at lightspeed toward a second orgasm, and it's not even _fair_ how much Prompto's enjoying this.

 

  
"Not talking much _now,"_ Prompto teases, and he works a third finger inside. There's no pain, they're meant for this, but the stretch is there, and it's a _good_ one, a slight burn that goes right to Noct's needy cock. He gasps and he rocks his hips down into the fingers fucking into him, and the world goes white when Prompto presses the pads of all three fingers right up into his prostate. He doesn't lay off the friction, either, and it's _too much,_ it's got Noct an overstimulated mess, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure.

 

Of course, Noct's _right_ on the edge, his hips jerking up, his cock spurting a dribble of precome over his belly, and he's about to come, he's right there--when Prompto wrenches his fingers out, leaving Noctis painfully hard and so goddamn _empty._

 

_"Prom!"_ Noctis hisses, and he's trying his best to sound angry, but he really just sounds needy and desperate, and that's how he feels, damnit. "Fuck, don't stop--"

 

"It's fun torturing you, Noct. I haven't gotten to _do_ this," Prompto points out, with a laugh. His fingers are still moving over Noct's inner thigh, tracing little circles that are red-hot lines of heat, making Noct's oversensitive body twitch and jerk. He tries to pull away, but his leg's still hooked over Prompto's shoulder, and he's so _exposed._ So instead, Noct simply moans, and he lifts up when Prompto's fingers rub over the puffy rim of his ass.

 

Fuck, it's not even fair. His cock twitches on his belly and he's making even _more_ of a mess. Noct wants to touch himself, but he knows the second his fingers reach for his aching cock, Prompto will pull away, and he'll tell him _no._ Noct simply _needs_ to come, damnit, he needs it, and he doesn't remember the last time he needed it so badly, even though it _hurts._

 

"Prom, fuck me, c'mon--" Noctis does his best to lift his hips up, to try and draw Prompto's fingers back into his greedy ass. Prompto laughs, and slaps his inner thigh playfully, but when his fingers draw back, he's scooting in, settling properly between Noct's thighs again.

 

"You _know_ you just had to ask, right?" Prompto teases, as he rubs the slick head of his cock teasingly over Noct's entrance. Even _that_ is too much, has Noct's overstimulated, hypersensitive body twitching, and he rocks back, pressing into the blunt head. Noct doesn't think he can talk, he can barely _think--_

 

Prompto presses inside, slow and steady, and Noct's head tosses back. He wants to _watch_ Prompto, because the other incubus looks fucking good. Prompto's hair is all tousled, and his eyes are burning bright, and that ridiculous costume is half ripped off at this point, but it looks good, clinging to his skin as he rolls his hips forward.

 

Noct can't keep his eyes open though. It feels too good. There's a sudden snap of Prompto's hips, and he's burying _all the way,_ pressed in fully to the hilt, his balls slapping against Noct's ass. It's been _so long,_ and Noctis feels complete, stuffed full in a way he hadn't even realized he was craving till now.

 

"Feels good," Noctis manages, moaning as Prompto begins to move. Prompto's grip on his leg is tight, and it's probably good, because Noct feels limp beneath him. He's lost, the heat of Prompto inside _too much, too good._

 

Usually, Prompto's the one who gets lost in this particular role. He's the one reduced to a sobbing, needy mess. But, as Prompto begins to fuck into him, steady, hard thrusts of his hips, Noctis realizes there's tears in his eyes, streaking down his cheeks. He realizes he can't think, that he can barely breathe. Prompto leans over him, lifting his leg higher, and the angle shifts, and he's so fucking deep, Noct can't even think. All he can do is wrap his arms tight around Prompto's neck, clawing into his shoulder blades with every thrust. Prompto's hair tickles his neck as he leaves heavy bite marks over sweaty skin, and it's _too much._

 

It's so much, too much, too good--

 

Noct's body aches, from overstimulation, from being right on the edge of an orgasm for so long, from the way he's being bent damn well in half with the angle. Prompto's pressed close, and his leg slips, falls to the side, gets caught in the crook of Prompto's elbow, and that somehow makes his thighs burn even more, spreading him _wider._

 

"Prom, I--" Noctis gasps, and then he's coming between them, his cock trapped between their bellies, exploding in wet release. Noct's vision is watery and it doesn't matter anyway, because he can't see through the world going white. He gasps and he clenches down on Prompto's cock as the other incubus rocks into him. Prompto doesn't stop, fucking him through his orgasm, and Noctis doesn't care, he's lost.

 

It's only when the first waves of euphoric release start to ebb that Noctis _gasps,_ that he realizes Prompto's still fucking him. His whole body's trembling, and a perfectly aimed thrust hits his prostate, and it's too much, going right back to that pain-pleasure. Noctis tries to tell Prompto _stop,_ but his mind isn't working, and neither is his voice, and--does he _really_ want him to stop?

Prompto's achingly hard inside. He's so deep, and they're so connected, that Noctis can feel him pulsing and throbbing inside. It's intense, and Noct swears, that strange connection from their imprint is another spread of heat, echoing and multiplying his feelings ten-fold. It might just be vague, mindless, post-orgasmic thoughts; Noct's not sure.

 

All Noctis knows is that he can't do anything but keep raking his nails over Prompto's back. He's leaving harsh red lines, and the pain spurs Prompto forward.

 

"Fuck, Noct," Prompto moans, as he rocks forward again, and each thrust of his hips sends his cock bumping and sliding over Noct's prostate. It's too much. Noctis wants to roll over and _sleep,_ but Prompto's still fucking him, and his cock's only half-hard, and he doesn't think he _has_ another release in him, but--

 

There's another rough thrust that sends the head of Prompto's cock sliding over that spot inside, and Noctis _screams,_ fucking outright screams as his cock twitches and spurts on his belly again. There's nothing left in him, he's empty and spent, but he's coming anyway, hips twisting and pressing back against Prompto, riding his cock and drawing him deeper and clenching around him--

 

Noctis feels the draw of energy, he feels Prompto _feeding_ from him, and somehow, that's just even fucking better, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded and desperately lifting himself up to meet Prompto's thrusts, even though he's exhausted, even though he has no energy.

 

That's what does it, and suddenly, the other incubus is following him over the edge.

 

"Fuck, Noct," Prompto gasps, and finally, he's slamming forward, burying himself to the hilt again, and Noctis moans, feeling the hot spurt of release fill him up, messy and _good._ Noctis whines and rocks his hips down as Prompto fucks him with lazy, jerky thrusts until he's ridden his orgasm out and then, suddenly, it's over.

 

Prompto collapses heavily on Noct's chest, letting his leg fall free, finally. Noct's whole body hurts. He's panting and he can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything except lift a hand to lazily stroke over the purple streak lining Prompto's horn.

 

"... fuck," Prompto laughs, shuddering at the touch, pressing a kiss, wet and messy, into Noct's clavicle. They're both sweaty, utterly ruined, and Noctis wants to roll over and _sleep._ He's tired, and he's sated, but Noctis does manage a smile, as his racing heart starts to slowly calm.

 

"Missed having you like this," Noctis admits, slowly, his voice catching, and not entirely because it's hard to breathe. Talking about _this,_ it's dangerous. In the afterglow of sex, though, it doesn't seem so bad. It doesn't seem so much like bringing up, 'hey, remember how you almost killed me when you fucked me that one time' so much as a bit of fond reminiscence.

 

Prompto's breath catches, and for a moment, Noctis worries that he's ruined the moment, that it's all fucking over. Instead, though, Prompto lifts his head, and presses his sticky forehead into Noct's. Their eyes meet, and there's no fear when Prompto looks at him. It's a jolt of a different heat, of pure fucking _love_ that goes right through Noct, and he knows Prompto feels the same.

 

"I did too, Noct," Prompto admits. "I... we've had one hell of a trip, huh?"

 

Noctis smiles, and he laughs a little. "Yeah. We have. No end in sight, either."

 

Prompto rolls his eyes, and mutters a lazy, "you're so sappy, Noct," under his breath. He goes in for a kiss though, and then adds, louder, "... we ruined another costume, though. Fuck."

 

That's no surprise, and they both laugh, and curl up together, until they fall asleep, a mess of sticky sex and sweat, tangled limbs, tails twisting around each other and playing silly little games as they drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's spicy companion art to go with it, as always, but follow @numinoceur on Twitter to see it, ahaha. <3


	31. School Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the hell does Prompto keep finding these costumes?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30.  
> The burn out is real so we did more smut. <3  
> We had a mighty thirst for school uniforms and spankings and this happened. I regret nothing.

Why is any of this a surprise anymore?

 

Noctis sighs, as Prompto stands in front of him wearing… well, what appears to be a high school uniform. There’s carefully pleated pants, a matching blazer, a dress shirt and a checkered green and yellow tie hanging loose around his neck. Prompto looks _very_ pleased with himself. Noctis wants to ask where the hell Prompto came up with this costume, but honestly, he doesn’t want to know where Prompto keeps finding these things.

 

“So, you’re a school boy today, huh?” Noctis asks, sighing and setting his ice cream aside. He’d been watching a cooking show, damnit. Cooking shows are his new _thing,_ and it’d been a nice, uneventful day, and then Prompto had gotten _bored._ It seems like that’s how most of their strange adventures begin.

 

“Mhmm,” Prompto agrees. He juts a hip out and offers up his best wide-eyed, pouty expression. “That a _problem,_ Noct?”

 

Another thing that’s no surprise at this point: Noctis absolutely cannot resist Prompto. Prompto’s horn’s healing more and more, and he’s returning to his former self with such vigor that Noct _can’t_ be upset. He’s missed being able to mess around like this _way_ too much. And hell – with that damn expression, and that goddamn uniform, the blazer fitted to show off the curve of Prompto’s waist and hips and that goddamn tie that Noct wants to curl his fingers around and _yank?_

 

Noct’s definitely interested. Okay. Cooking show can wait.

 

“Not a problem,” Noctis agrees lazily. “So. You wanna do some extra credit work?”

 

Prompto laughs, and his eyes narrow, and Noctis knows, immediately, that he’s got an _idea._ Prompto’s ideas are usually terrible ones; so, naturally, Noct usually loves them.

 

“Was thinking we could go on a little field trip,” Prompto teases, leaning in. He still wobbles a bit and has to balance a hand on Noct’s knee to keep from topping over, damn horn, but he pulls it off pretty well with a subtle brush of their lips and then Prompto’s drawing back, his eyes dancing with amusement.

 

“C’mon, Professor Noct. Don’t think teachers should dress like that. Put on a suit,” Prompto pauses, laughs, and then winks. “And the beard, too.”

 

Noctis rolls his eyes, and sighs, and stands up, stretching his arms over his head and heading back to the bedroom to rummage through their closet.

 

\---

 

That’s how, a little while later, they’re walking down the hallway of an empty school near their place.

 

It’s a weekend, apparently, so the place is mostly empty, except for a few stray janitorial staff and maybe a couple of teachers trying to catch up on work. Incubi generally don’t care much for keeping track of the days of the week. There was a time, In the past, where days were really important. Now, though, streaming sites exist and Noct doesn’t really _need_ to follow much of a television schedule.

 

So, he’s mostly aware it’s a weekend because his phone lock screen tells him that. Whatever.

 

Prompto’s tugging at Noct’s hand as he leads him down the hall. He’s taking the lead, and he’s only stumbled a few times, and Noct’s heart is full of a strange sort of… _pride,_ something that’s terrible out of place for their nature. But fuck, their entire relationship goes against what they are. Prompto’s come far in the past while, and he really is almost back to his full strength.

 

“We haven’t committed breaking and entering in a while, y’know,” Noctis shakes his head, when Prompto pauses and tries a doorknob. It’s locked, and Prompto sighs and moves on to the next room, across the hall.

 

This door opens, and Prompto grins over his shoulder. “Not locked. Technically we aren’t breaking in.”

 

“School was locked,” Noctis points out, with a roll of his eyes. They _might_ have glamored a poor, unsuspecting custodian into unlocking the door for them. “We’re totally criminals.”

 

Prompto laughs, and he saunters into the classroom, his hips wiggling. “Noct, I’ve killed enough people that _breaking into a school_ isn’t exactly high on the crime list, y’know?”

 

Prompto does have a point, there. Noctis sighs, though. He doesn’t really like focusing on the fact that Prompto’s got a bit of a dark past there.

 

“Besides,” Prompto adds, as he perches on the edge of a desk, his eyes all wide and inviting, “doesn’t breaking the law get the adrenaline rushing? I’m _totally_ into this, Noct,” and Prompto settles back a little, resting his hands on the desk behind him, hips lifting to show off the bulge in the front of his pleated trousers.

 

Noctis groans. Fuck.

 

“That’s absolutely _not_ fair,” Noctis says, but he’s closing the door behind him, locking it – even though nobody will bother them – and he stalks into the room, like a large, predatory cat hunting down his prey. His eyes lock with Prompto’s, and the other incubus looks pleased.

 

Prompto likes to slip into these little roleplays. _That_ much is well-known to Noctis. Hell, Noct enjoys it too, if he’s being honest. He did, after all, change into a suit and tie. It’s an older suit, a little well-worn, something that a comfortable, older professor would absolutely wear. He’s got the older look going, too, with a scruff of beard and wrinkles around his eyes. He’d completed the look with a pair of glasses, too, and he knows that Prompto’s getting off on it. Hell, Noct can sense the tension in the air, and he knows Prompto’s been _dying_ to get his hands on him.

 

And, well? Noctis loves Prompto. He loves him more than anything, and indulging him is absolutely something he enjoys doing.

 

“You know,” Noct murmurs, as he stops in front of the desk, leaning in so that their faces are pressed only inches apart. “You’ve been a _naughty student._ Talking during class, not turning in your assignments…”

 

Prompto’s breath hitches, and his legs part a little, inviting Noct closer. Noctis notices, and he takes another half-step forward, their faces so close their noses brush. One hand braces on the desk, fingers brushing over Prompto’s, and it make Noct _smirk._ He loves it when Prompto passes the power over to him like this.

 

“You have anything to say for yourself?” Noct breathes, his voice low and dangerous.

 

Prompto looks torn between complete submission and throwing back some attitude. Of course, Prompto’s a brat, and at the end of the day, he can’t help himself. He tips his head to the side, and he narrows his eyes, and his voice carries a hint of petulance that he can’t quite mask.

 

“I’m _sorry,_ Professor… you’re just _very_ distracting,” Prompto offers, giving Noct his best wide, puppy dog eyes as he lifts a hand and fiddles, slow and lazy and _very_ purposeful, with his tie, curling it around his fingers. “Please, don’t fail me.”

 

Noct shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is. But fuck, his pants are getting tight, his cock stirring to life, trapped beneath the constraint of fabric. Noct wants to make Prompto beg. There’s a nice, big desk in the front of the room, and he can already picture Prompto bent over it, face pressing rough into the surface while he yanks at his hair and teases his horns—

 

Fuck. Noct can’t get the image out of his mind. He shudders, and tips his head to the side. He’s close enough that his breath is puffing warm against Prompto’s cheek, and even though they’re both similar build, like this, with the beard and the glasses, standing over Prompto, Noctis feels _powerful._

Prompto’s fingers fidget.

 

“You need to _do_ something about your self-control, Prompto,” Noctis murmurs, and well, that’s not entirely _just_ in role, either. Noct’s lips quirk up into a smirk and he lazily lifts a hand, cupping Prompto’s chin with a thumb and a forefinger and tipping his head, forcing their eyes together. Prompto doesn’t reply, but his breath quickens and his eyes widen and Noctis can _tell_ he’s turned on by it.

 

“W-what are you going to do, sir…?” Prompto asks, finally, after a long pause, seeming to find his voice, finally, though it’s slightly wavering and uneven.

 

That’s a damn good question. Noct’s definitely going to fuck Prompto over the back of that big desk up front, that’s a given. He’s falling into the role a little bit, though. A lot of the time, Prompto’s silly little roleplays are something that Noct goes along with solely because at this point? They just get off on each other, regardless of what other weird kinks are involved. This one, though? Noct has to admit. He’s enjoying it.

 

“Hm,” Noctis replies, in a lazy voice. He leans in, the scruff of his beard grazing ever-so-slightly against Prompto’s skin, and then he’s abruptly releasing him, straightening and smoothing down his suit jacket. Prompto’s eyes are following him, and he seems to wince at the loss of contact, his fingers gripping at the edge of the desk until his knuckles turn white.

 

Prompto doesn’t like it when Noctis isn’t touching him. He likes playing the role, though, and the two sides of him are at odds. It’s a little jolt of pleasure, a surge of heat that goes right between Noct’s thighs, at seeing the other incubus so goddamn _subservient._

 

“Since you don’t listen to traditional punishment,” Noct says, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Prompto. He scans the room, looking it over. It’s a pretty basic classroom, with slightly uneven rows of desks, books scattered around, stupid motivational posters… and, resting against the edge of the chalkboard, something catches Noct’s attention.

 

This is gonna be good.

 

Noct reaches out, and grabs Prompto roughly by the tie, tugging him forward. Prompto’s balance is still a little off, and he trips and wobbles as he’s pulled forward. There’s _almost_ a bit of guilt, but Prompto makes the neediest fucking sound in response, and his eyes go all wide, and… okay. Noctis immediately forgets _all_ about feeling bad. Fuck.

 

“Bend over the desk,” Noctis purrs, as he releases Prompto’s tie. Prompto almost falls face-first into him, but his tail’s twitching and he catches himself, a hand bracing rough against Noct’s chest. There’s a moment of Prompto simply leaning in, breathing deeply, and then he straightens, slowly starting to turn—

 

“No,” Noct interrupts, and he’s _enjoying_ the dominating voice he gets to use, “not _that_ desk. The one in the front. _My_ desk.”

 

It’s not Noct’s desk, of course, not at all, but it’s part of the fun. Prompto seems to agree that it’s _fun,_ anyway, because his breath hitches and his eyes widen again and he turns on his heels, sauntering over to the desk. Prompto’s swaying his hips as he walks, his tail swishing, and he _absolutely_ puts on a show of jutting his ass forward and spreading his legs as he leans over the desk. His back arches and Prompto lazily stretches his arms over his head, gripping at the edge. He tips his head over his shoulder, and Noct can tell he’s trying not to smirk, damnit, because Prompto _knows_ how good he looks.

 

“Like this, sir?”

 

The swell of Prompto’s ass, jutting out, is tantalizing and smooth, very clearly visible, given the way that his pants are fitted, pulling tight in _all_ the right places. It has Noct’s breath catching in his throat, just a little, and he has to pause, a hand reaching down to lazily stroke over his half-hard cock pressing against the front of his pants.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis replies, “ _just_ like that.”

 

There’s one of those old-fashioned yardsticks perched ever-so-innocently at the front of the classroom, and Noct makes a point of sauntering toward it. He’s well aware of Prompto’s eyes following him, and when Prompto realizes exactly what Noct’s doing, his eyes widen and he tries (and fails) to muffle a desperate, needy sound.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto says.

 

Noct shakes his head, and laughs a little. He picks up the ruler and lazily smacks the end against his palm, feeling the weight of it. There’s a little hint of a sting, and it’s surprisingly heavy. Noctis honestly didn’t even know they still _used_ the damn things in classrooms anymore, but he’s certainly not complaining. They definitely don’t have _this_ intended purpose, in any case.

 

“Swearing in front of a teacher,” Noct says, turning back around, his pace slow and steady as he circles back around the desk. “Very inappropriate. Probably should punish you.” Prompto’s wiggling his ass in the air, all needy and desperate, and Noct doesn’t have to see to know that he’s fully hard in his pants, his cock rutting against the edge of the desk with each swivel of his hips.

 

“P-please,” Prompto agrees, his words thick with desire, "I _deserve_ to be punished."

 

Fuck.

 

Noct's heart thumps in his chest, and he runs his fingers over the edge of the ruler. It's hard, unyielding, and Prompto's fucking _begging_ for it. It's another slip, deeper into the role of the scene. They've got a new, better safe word, one that Noct knows they probably won't have to use, and Prompto's damn well nearly fully recovered, and _fuck,_ Prompto's lifting his hips up and he's reaching clumsily down between his legs and unbuckling his belt and letting his pants fall around his hips.

 

"Did I tell you to do that?" Noctis asks, suddenly, and he almost doesn't recognize his voice. It's been a while since he's properly gotten into a dominating role, after all. He'd been wary of it, while Prompto was hurt. Now? Even with that horn that's still not fully regrown, Prompto's _totally_ into it. He looks over his shoulder, and his cheeks are flushed, full of need, _so_ eager to please.

 

"No, sir," Prompto mumbles, even as he rocks the smooth curve of his exposed ass forward. There's a spark in Prompto's eyes, one that Noct knows means he's just _dying_ to talk back. Normally, he would, all mischief, but Prompto's trying _very_ hard to place the role of disobedient student, waiting to be chastised, and Noct appreciates that.

 

Noct looks Prompto over for a long moment. Prompto's blazer is riding up, exposing the dip of his lower back, his tail twitching off to the side.The delicious swell of his ass is pale and _so_ inviting, and Noct brushes just the tips of his fingers over one cheek. Prompto shudders, and Noct draws his hand away and, then.

 

_Smack._

 

The stillness in the room is broken by the harsh, stinging sound of wood hitting flesh, and Prompto can't quite muffle the sharp, surprised cry. Noct knows that it only hurts because he _wants_ it to hurt. Prompto's powers have mostly returned, and he's quite capable of filtering out the unwanted pain, by now. Prompto's a bit of a painslut, though, when it comes to sex, and honestly? Noctis likes dishing it out just as much.

 

"That enough punishment for you?" Noctis teases. He draws the ruler back, and he's _so_ goddamn pleased, watching the slow-spread of red blossom bright and brilliant over Prompto's ass. Prompto whines, and he rocks his hips back, and _that_ is an answer in itself.

 

"More," Prompto groans, and he absolutely breaks the role for a moment, his voice dripping _greed._ Noct had half-asked the question seriously, but everything is screaming that Prompto wants more, so Noct keeps going.

 

The second crack against Prompto's ass draws out a low, keening noise from his throat, and Prompto ruts against the edge of the desk when Noct pulls back, breaking the bit of contact. By now, his ass is a brilliant red, and the skin is a little bit raised, and Noct knows it'll be painful and heated.

 

So, of course, he cracks over Prompto's ass a third time, and then a fourth, and then again until both cheeks are raw and swollen. Prompto's head is tipped to the side, and he's got big, dolloping tears clinging to his lashes and running down his cheeks, and he's drooling a little on the table. He looks _thoroughly_ debauched, all disheveled and messy, just the way Noct likes him.

 

Prompto's pants are almost down to his knees, from the writhing alone, and Noct draws back for a moment, to simply _admire._ He brushes his fingers over Prompto's ass, and the skin is red-hot and sensitive to the touch. Prompto hisses, and gasps, and doesn't know whether to draw back to thrust against the desk again or to rock back into the fingertips teasing his sensitive skin.

 

"Learned your lesson?" Noctis asks.

 

Prompto's slipped fully into the role, at some point during those vicious spankings, and he nods furiously, a few more tears streaking down his cheeks. His hips pivot and his ass lifts, pressing into Noct's touch eagerly.

 

"Yes, _sir,"_ Prompto manages, all breathy, his eyes brimming with more unshed tears, "please."

 

Noct's so goddamn hard in his pants that it hurts. He'd pushed his own arousal aside, so focused on torturing Prompto a little. Now, though? With Prompto on display before him, _very_ much acting the part of bratty, shamed student, his uniform mussed and his hair a mess and his face shining with tears? Noct can't help but be very damn well aware of how his erection's straining against the front of his pants, a wet stain standing out stark against the dark fabric where the leaking head's pressed.

 

Noctis lazily rubs his fingers over his cock, and his fingers tease the tip through his pants. It add an extra bit of delicious friction, and it makes him shiver. He teases himself for a moment, and he knows Prompto's watching, can _feel_ the eyes on him.

 

"Please _what?"_ Noct asks, his voice low, deadly calm.

 

Prompto whines and his fingers are gripping at the edge of the desk again, so hard that his knuckles are white. He's all blissed out, riding that fine line between pain and pleasure. He looks _good,_ his skin all marred with red streaks, the skin raising up, angry and swollen. Prompto shifts, spreads his ass wider, and it gives Noct a perfect view of Prompto's swollen entrance, all ready for him.

 

"Please," Prompto manages, after another heavy silence, one where Noct's head is tipped and he simply admires, "fuck me."

 

Noct's hand is already working his pants open and tugging them down his hips before he even realizes that he's doing it. His fingers curl around his cock, and it's wet at the tip, his fingers smearing precome down his shaft. One good stroke is enough to make Noctis groan, and Prompto whines in response, arching his back, putting himself on display even more.

 

"You wanna get some extra credit?" Noct asks, and he's _damn_ well aware of how cheesy it sounds. It's terrible roleplay talk. But his cock's throbbing under his grip, and there's more wetness beading at the tip, and Prompto's rocking back again.

 

"Yeah," Prompto agrees, all breathless, desperate for more, "please."

 

That's all that Noctis needs.

 

His hands are rough as he spreads Prompto's ass apart with one hand, the other still wrapped around the base of his cock. Noct jerks Prompto's hips back a little, his ass lifting higher. Prompto isn't entirely expecting the manhandling, but arched like this, Noct gets a damn good view. The other incubus is all on display for him, and Noct's damn well aware that Prompto's even more aroused than he is. His balls are drawn tight and his cock's hanging between his thighs, aching, smears of precome all over the edge of the desk, where he's been rutting against it.

 

"Slutty for teacher," Noct teases - another bad line - and Prompto moans, helplessly nodding his agreement.

 

Noctis doesn't say anything else. His cock lines up, and with one smooth, _rough_ thrust of his hips, he's driving forward. Prompto gasps as he's pressed face-down into the desk, his whole body flush against the hard surface. The desk jerks across the floor with an angry screeching noise, but neither of them care.

 

"F-fuck!" Prompto manages, though it sounds more like a wail. He's desperately scrabbling for purchase against the smooth desktop, but there's no time to find a good grip, because both of Noct's hands shift to spread his ass apart, to keep him held ass up, needy and slutty.

 

They both groan when Noct draws back, until only the tip of his cock is still inside. Noct's torn. He doesn't know where to look. Prompto's head is still tipped to the side, and the flush across his cheeks is a bright, magnificent crimson now, nearly hiding the damn freckles. His eyes have glassed over, and he has a distant, far-off expression in his eyes. He's lost to the sex, to the feeling of being utterly _used,_ and it feels fucking amazing.

 

Noct's eyes drag down though, and he can't quite look away when he slams back in. There's something so dirty and so _good_ about watching Prompto getting fucked. His ass is spread wide when Noct draws back, damn near gaping, and he eagerly takes Noct's length back in when he thrusts forward again. The skin all around is flushed red, hot under Noct's fingers, and the whole picture is _gorgeous._

 

_"_ You're so good for me," Noct hisses, as he sets a brutal pace. He bottoms out with each thrust, until he can't go deeper, and Prompto writhes and rocks back, eager to feel more, to try and pull Noctis in even _deeper._ There's something primal that comes over Noct, when Prompto gets this way, reduced to a greedy vessel of pleasure, and he keeps going.

 

Each thrust has Prompto clawing at the desk, his ass lifted high in the air, on display for the world. Noct's holding him spread open, and it's so deep, so good. He tugs Prompto a little higher, until his shoulders are lifted at an awkward angle, his entire face pushed down against the desk. The change in angle has Prompto outright _screaming,_ his whole body going tense when Noct thrusts into his prostate.

 

There's the urge to refuse to let Prompto come. Noct could fucking say it right now, and he'd _listen._ Prompto's deep in the role, so subservient and perfect for him, and Noctis could deny him. His cock twitches and throbs inside, and he's leaking, hot and messy, at the thought of Prompto begging for it. But it's been _so_ long since they've done this last, and Noct's not even sure _he_ can properly last through that.

 

So, instead, Noct picks the next best thing.

 

He leans forward, fully draping himself over Prompto's back. The pressure pushes Prompto fully down into the desk again, and he collapses, needy, Noct sprawled out over him. His fingers are still gripping Prompto firmly, setting the same brutal pace, but now it's deeper, fully, Noctis rutting forward incessantly. Prompto's trapped between Noctis and the desk, and his cock's pressed fully against the desk, rubbing torturously.

 

"You wanna come?" Noct asks, and his voice is hot breath against Prompto's ear, his tongue darting out to trace over the shell.

 

Prompto can barely respond. His whole body's trembling, and his ass is desperately trying to press back against Noct's cock, but he can't get themomentum to properly grind into him. It's all desperate, needy writhing motions, and somehow, that's even fucking hotter.

 

"Y-yeah," Prompto finally manages, thickly, when Noct slams in again, splitting him open, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the room.

 

Noct laughs a little, all hot air and drags of tongue over Prompto's skin, and then he's slipping one hand down, working between their bodies. His fingers curl around Prompto's cock, and it's throbbing, so fucking hard it's painful. Prompto's right on the edge, Noct knows it instantly, and he jerks him with those rough, heavy strokes that Prompto loves so goddamn much.

 

The energy is crackling in the air, and when Noct tips his head, drags his tongue over Prompto's horn, it's _over._ Prompto's hips are jerking and he's outright screaming Noct's name, muffled against the desk, as he spurts messy over Noct's fingers, over the top of the desk and ruining the fabric of his dress shirt. Noct shudders at how hot and tight Prompto clenches around his cock, and he's barely holding on.

 

He fucks Prompto through his release, though Noct can feel his own building. He waits, though, holds back by a thread until Prompto goes limp against the desk, until his cock's stopped twitching and dripping. Fuck, the other incubus is outright gasping and whining, on the verge of overstimulation.

 

Noct's hand smacks over Prompto's ass, already so swollen and red, and Prompto winces and moans and clenches around him, and that's what does it--

 

Abruptly, Noct pulls out. Normally, he's satisfied to spill himself in Prompto, to feel his tight ass gripping his erection, but he's a bit lost in being in the dominant role, too. So Noct's wrenching free, and his hand's curling around his cock, jerking himself, and it only takes a few strokes, base to tip, for him to becoming, too. The world goes blurry, and Noct's gasping Prompto's name as everything disappears but _pleasure,_ and he's coming, spilling white and messy over the heated, red swells of Prompto's ass, up along the base of his spine and over the back of the unbuttoned blazer half-hanging off Prompto's shoulders.

 

Slowly, Noct comes down from his orgasmic high. He's trembling, and Prompto is too, still limp against the desk. Noct's breathing steadies, and he heaves himself to the side, sitting down heavily on the edge of the desk, a hand stroking slow and protective and comforting at the small of Prompto's back.

 

"H-hey... you okay, Prom?"

 

Prompto groans, and tips his head to the side, after a long moment of simply being motionless. His eyes are still full of tears, all lidded and exhausted, and his cheeks are wet with sweat and and tears mixed together. His hair's flattened over his face, and the flush is spread as bright and beautiful as the one across his ass.

 

"... you're an asshole, Noct. Fuck, I'm not gonna be able to walk. _Again."_

 

Noctis laughs, but his fingers are still moving, slow and steady, over Prompto's back, slowly working up his spine and easing out the kinks there. Prompto sighs, and finally finds the energy to rock back into the touch.

 

"You'll heal in a couple of hours. I can always carry you, you know."

 

_"No,"_ Prompto's eyes flash and his tail whips angrily at the thought of that, "fuck that, you've been taking care of me for way too long, Noct."

 

Noctis doesn't feel like arguing that particular point, that he _enjoys_ taking care of Prompto. It's been a long, exhausting recovery. Instead, he shakes his head and smiles a lazy smile and leans down, pressing a kiss right over one swollen, red ass cheek. Prompto _hisses_ and jerks in surprise, but slowly relaxes to the touch, with a sigh.

 

"We'll just stay until you can walk, then," Noctis points out, with a laugh. "It's a school. There's gotta be blankets or something _somewhere."_

Prompto nods slowly, but even as he does, he's shifting, rolling onto his side -wincing as he does - and pivoting around, so his head's resting in Noct's lap. "... sounds good," he agrees. Noct smiles, and lazily runs his fingers through Prompto's hair, stroking slow and lazy.

 

Then, Prompto adds, a little hesitantly. "... stay here though? Like this? For now?"

 

Noct can't help but smile, even though Prompto's expression narrows again in response.

 

"Stop worrying, Prom," Noct replies, his fingers stroking over Prompto’s horn. Prompto’s sated, exhausted, and he whines and tips his head, burying his face in Noct’s lap a little, but there’s a smile tugging at Prompto’s lips, too. “Should know by now I’m not going _anywhere._ You’re gonna be dealing with my soft, affectionate ass forever.”

 

Prompto laughs a little, and nuzzles into Noct’s untucked dress shirt, smiling lazily. “Yeah, I know. Gimme ten minutes. I _guess_ if I can’t walk, you can _help_ me. Help, though, Noct, _not_ carry…”

 

Noctis laughs though, because he’s _totally_ going to be carrying Prompto, and the other incubus will just have to fucking deal with it.

 

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow Numi on Twitter @numinoceur to see the spice, as usual, even though i'm assuming everyone reading this already does. <3  
> thank you for sticking with us the entire month. we'll have our final daily update tomorrow!!! zzz


	32. Happy Halloween!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Prompto spend their favourite day together! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31. The final day.  
> We've offered up our entire lives this month to this AU. It's been a hell of a journey. Thank you for coming on this ride with us, for reading and leaving feedback and letting us make you feel something. We love these boys, and this world we created, and I'm so fucking happy to have had my part in creating this.
> 
> This is for everyone who read along this month.
> 
> And, this is for Numi, because I love you, and thank you for being my co-conspirator, a beautiful source of creativity, endless support for when I was struggling with my side of the project. Thank you, more than that, for being a friend, for all the hours we've spent giggling and obsessing and plotting, or Facetiming or voice chatting. <3

Halloween is, absolutely, without a doubt, Prompto’s favourite day of the year.

 

It starts like a storm brewing. For once, there isn’t an _actual_ storm in the air, but there might as well be, with the energy that’s crackling. Years ago, back when this relationship was still _new,_ before they’d figured a good deal of it out, Prompto had been absolutely wild. It’s no surprise, of course. They’re daemons, and this is the one day of the year that’s _theirs._

Noctis has memories of Prompto overindulging, gorging himself on souls and running wild. He’d been like a hyped up teenage delinquent, high on caffeine and sugar, except Prompto’s high is on human souls and the natural power associated with this particular day. In the more recent years, he’s calmed down some, but Prompto’s still _insatiable._

Last year, after a marathon bout of Halloween sex, Noct had slept for a week straight. Prompto had been annoyed, but it’s promising to be a similar year, with how tense and energetic Prompto is, in the days leading up. He’s like a caged puppy, pacing around the apartment, the energy thick and buzzing in the air, swirling around them like it’s going to jump out of Prompto’s chest.

 

Noct’s awoken on Halloween with Prompto crawling over him, a bright grin on his face, and a wet line of kisses being pressed over his cheeks. “Noct! _Noctis!_ Wake up, you’ve slept through half the day! It’s _our day,_ Noct!”

 

Noctis grumbles, but Prompto’s right, and hell, now that the day is here? Noct can feel it working through him, too, and for once, it’s easy to drag him out of bed.

 

Halloween is their day, a day for spirits and daemons and all the creepy things in between. More importantly—Halloween is a day for _candy,_ when the silly mortal souls hand out the tasty snacks that Noctis and Prompto both have grown increasingly fond of. And, hell, they don’t even need costumes, either, because this is the one day of the year they _don’t_ have to glamour their horns and tails when they go out.

 

“Y’know, I’m starting to learn that Halloween is for kids. We’re too old for this,” Noctis points out with a laugh, a little later, as he leans against the back of the couch, half perched on it. Prompto rolls his eyes. He’s kneeling down on the floor, adjusting Squishy’s costume for the tenth time. The malboro had seemed skeptical of the costume, at first, but Prompto bribed him with treats and now he’s cooperative enough as he sits and lets Prompto straighten the fluffy angel wings that are attached to him.

 

“Whatever, Noct. We _always_ get compliments on our costumes. Besides, Squish makes a good impression!” Prompto replies, sticking his tongue out.

 

Noctis eyes the malboro, and he’s not so sure about that. The irony is clear in the costume that Prompto’s chosen: the evil little monster is decked out in a full angel costume. He’s got a silly little white dress draping over his tentacles, feathery wings, and a fluffy, golden halo attached to the top of his tentacled head. Squish is the furthest thing from an angel that Noct can possibly image. He tips his head and gives the malboro a _look;_ Squish, in response, happily wiggles his tentacles and shows off his many fangs.

 

Prompto does have a point, of course. It’s nice to simply be _themselves_ in public. It’s been… well, a long year, though, and today’s the kind of day that should set their nerves a little uneasy. Prompto’s been attacked, and this is the day that all sorts of spirits are out, are full of additional power, and energy, and—

 

Noct’s not sure how to bring up the idea. So, he awkwardly clears his throat and tries to sound casual. He fails, and Prompto’s immediately tilting his head and looking at him.

 

“What, Noct? I _know_ you wanna say something.”

 

Noct sighs. As much as he thinks he’s figured Prompto out over the years, it definitely goes both ways. Prompto’s _so_ on to him. “Uh. So, I mentioned everything that’s happened to my dad. He wants to come out for Halloween with us.”

 

Prompto blinks. “Your dad’s awake?”

 

“Apparently,” Noctis shuffles awkwardly. He doesn’t _entirely_ want to have this conversation. “He’s… a little concerned, Prom. And you know, we aren’t the _only_ ones who celebrate today…”

 

There are a couple of really awkward points to this conversation. First: even though this is a centuries-old relationship, Prompto’s never met Noct’s dad. Well, his adopted dad, since incubi aren’t exactly born the traditional way. Usually, a newly created incubus is a confused mess, and it’s ancient tradition, built in to their nature, to be nurturing to a newborn who hasn’t been claimed by a mentor yet. All that detail and tradition aside, Prompto’s still never met Noct’s dad, despite their long relationship.

 

It’s just never come up. Noct’s dad isn’t exactly around a lot these days, and—well, he’s a bit wary of outsiders, so Noct’s just never introduced him.

 

There’s also the tiny little fact that his dad isn’t _exactly_ an incubus, strictly speaking, and Prompto’s unfortunately got a… lacking knowledge, of the daemonic world outside of their own kind. Hell, even a lot of the stuff about their own kind is muddled. Noctis would love to know more about Prompto’s past, and which absolutely incompetent incubus raised him, but that’s a whole other subject. It’s also a useless one, because unless he wants to go delving back into dreams? That information’s lost to them.

 

Whatever. That stuff doesn’t matter.

 

  
Prompto maybe looks a little nervous, just for a moment, but he’s quick to shrug it off. "It's Halloween. If your dad wants to come along, cool."

 

Prompto smiles, and nods, and goes back to adjusting Squishy's costume, closing one eye and staring it down critically. Noct's not sure if he's purposely changing the subject or not--and he doesn't really know how to feel. Maybe Noct's the nervous one, here. He doesn't know how much he wants to tell Prompto.

 

Prompto's at least feigning obliviousness, though. He tips his head to the side, and frowns. "Do we have a leveler? I wanna make sure Squish's wings are even..."

 

Noctis groans. "I don't think it matters if his wings are level, Prom. He's gonna eat them before the night is over, anyway."

 

In response to that, the malboro waves a tentancle and tries to curl it behind him to get at the wings.

 

" _No,_ Squish! I told you, you can eat it _after_ you're done wearing it!" Prompto lectures. Noctis sighs. It's gonna be one hell of a long night. He's absolutely going to need to sleep for a week again this year.

 

\---

 

That's how, a little later, Noctis finds himself in the most awkward of situations.

 

There are some traditions that surpass mortality. Apparently, it doesn't matter if you're an incubus or a human or something _entirely_ else when it comes to parental embarrassment, because right now, Noct's staring down his dad, absolutely mortified.

 

 _"Dad."_ Noct says, in a very distinct voice that's a little high-pitched and a whole lot embarrassed.

 

"Son," Regis replies, with a smile, and then he follows it up with a wiggle of his arms, and a _very_ bad accent, "I'm going to suck your blood!"

 

Noct's dad isn't quite an incubus. He'd found Noctis as a young one, and handed him over to Ignis's care about the finer aspect of incubi life, but Noct's dad? He's older, and he's more ancient, and he's _far_ more powerful, even if he absolutely doesn't act it. He looks like an incubus, most days, with massive, twisting horns, and a kind face, one that's old and wrinkled, his beard speckled salt-and-pepper grey. He's got the same amber eyes as Noctis, though, and there's a mixture of sleepiness and kindness there.

 

Yeah, Noct's not his dad's _real_ son, in the literal meaning, but nurturing aspects are strong in formative incubus years, and Noct's definitely picked up on all his dad's lazy habits.

 

"Dad," Noct says, again, his voice a little more insistent as he eyes his dad's ratty old costume. "I _told_ you to get rid of the vampire costume."

 

Noct remembers his dad wearing this damn exact same Halloween costume the last Halloween they spent together, which was--fuck, probably several decades? It was one where Prompto had been especially wild. He'd disappeared the day before, telling Noct he just _needed_ to burn off some energy, and Noct hadn't asked where he'd went, though there had been reports of some severe vandalism to several government buildings the next day...

 

Either way. Noct's dad's got the pale makeup, the dark circles under his eyes, the ratty old cape and the fangs, dripping with fake blood. It's the worst thing Noct's ever seen.

 

"It's a good costume," Regis says, smiling lazily.

 

"It's a _racist_ costume. You know the vampires get pissed off when you dress that way!" Noctis sighs. "It's insensitive."

 

Regis shrugs. "Let them bitch on their tumblrs about it, then. Nobody in the real world is listening."

 

Prompto, at least, manages a laugh, and that catches Regis's attention. Noct watches as his dad turns, and even though his expression is masked, almost entirely unreadable, Noct catches a stranger flicker of emotion on his dad's face.

 

"So, you're Prompto, I assume?"

 

Noct follows his dad's gaze, and he's absolutely honing in on the horns. When Noct's dad looks back at him, his eyes hover over Noct's own horns, with that streak of pink, and Noctis realizes that... _okay,_ maybe the semi awkwardness is on him. He hadn't _told_ his dad about the imprint. It had simply happened, and then Prompto had been hurt and he'd mentioned that part, yeah, but they'd had no idea if the bond was going to come back. It was a tough subject, a sore one, and he hadn't really thought this through.

 

"Hi, sir," Prompto says, and this time, he does sound properly nervous. He's got Squishy tucked under one arm - Squish struggling to get free, his tentacles wriggling - and offers his hand with the other. Noct's dad only hesitates a fraction of a second, before reaching out and shaking Prompto's hand with a firm grip.

 

"Yeah," Noctis quickly jumps in to make an attempt at this whole _introduction_ thing. "Prompto--my dad. Dad--Prom. We're uh, partners I guess--"

 

"You're imprinted," Regis replies, interrupting Noct's words. "I'd say that's a touch more sensitive than _partners."_

 

Prompto has the dignity to flush, and ducks his head down, and it shows off that purple streak in his horns so very clearly. Noct--he hadn't intended to hide the news from his dad. It's just... his father is a little wary of strangers. He's close-guarded, and even though Noctis is an incubus and his dad is an ancient power, and they really don't even interact that often, Noct's aware his dad's always got eye out open and an ear out. It's a miracle he hadn't known all this was happening, really, and Noctis just blames the fact that his dad's been sleepy over the past few centuries.

 

"Yeah--the imprint thing is... kinda new. A little unexpected," Noct manages, but he does his best to smile, and he gives Prompto a look that's vaguely reassuring, or at least, he hopes it is.

 

There's a single heartbeat, just a split second in time, where the tension is suddenly harsh in the air. Noct's dad is giving Prompto a _look,_ staring him down for a fraction of a moment, and then he's smiling lazily, showing off the stupid vampire fangs, all glistening with fake blood.

 

"Welcome to the family, then, Prompto,” Regis smiles, politely, and then follows it up with, “I brought matching vampire costumes for all of us!”

 

 _“Dad,”_ Noctis sighs.

 

“I’m game,” Prompto agrees, “… they gotta be classy vampire costumes, though, right?”

 

“Only the classiest for my family,” Regis nods.

 

\---

 

It's probably a good thing that people in their part of town are relatively nice. It's probably mostly because of Prompto's good mood, honestly. Even though his negative moods affect people _far_ more strongly, when Prompto's happy, a sort of lazy, content air washes over the neighbourhood. Tonight? Prompto's in an absolutely _fantastic_ sort of mood. They don't get any comments about the fact that they're a trio of grown adults wearing vampire costumes with a gross looking wriggling tentacle creature wearing a hideous angel costume. They make it halfway down their block before Squishy manages to tear off one of the wings.

 

Noct's surprised that they made it this far; Prompto wails and grumbles about how he _knew_ he should've brought glue. Regis, being the _dad_ that he is, whips out a couple of safety pins and Prompto manages to re-attach the wing, even though it dangles pathetically.

 

Whatever. They get lots of candy.

 

“You should probably stop him, y’know,” Noctis points out, when Squishy slithers off to steal a decorative fake foam grave off someone’s front lawn. The malboro takes a bite out of the Styrofoam, gurgles and grumbles, and leaves the destroyed ornament behind in a carnage of ripped foam.

 

“Squish!” Prompto groans, taking off after the malboro. Squishy is surprisingly fast, though his angel wings get caught in a bush as he scurries under it, and when Prompto gives chase, some of his candy tips out of his bag.

 

Noctis sighs, and laughs, as he watches.

 

Noct’s dad puts a gloved hand on Noct’s shoulder, and fuck, it’s hard to take him seriously, with how damn _silly_ he looks, but his father definitely has the dad look on.

 

“He’s a little unusual, isn’t he?” his father asks, nodding in Prompto’s direction. Prompto’s in an impossibly good mood, laughing even as he chases after the malboro. It’s nice, being out like this. Their horns are showing, tails are swishing, and they keep getting compliments on how _realistic_ their costumes are – along with several questions, of course, about how the hell they manage to make their tails _move._ If only they knew, of course.

 

Nobody questions why they’d be horned, tailed, vampires, at least. Noctis doesn’t exactly have an answer, there. He’s still worried they’re going to run into an _actual_ vampire and make a fool of themselves.

 

Noct chews his lower lip and even though he’s a little nervous about where this line of questioning is going—he trusts his dad. And, hell, he’s happy right now. Prompto’s in a good mood. Noct’s dad is with them, and that means they’re _safe_ on an arguably dangerous night to be out, given the attacks. And hell, being able to simply be themselves feels good.

 

“I guess he’s different,” Noctis admits, “dad, c’mon, you’ve known about the _weather_ thing for years, that’s nothing new.”

 

His father frowns. “You _did_ mention that, I suppose… you’d never mentioned the horns though. _Or_ the imprint, Noctis. These are important things.”

 

Noctis groans. Figures, he’s several centuries old and _still_ getting the lecture from his dad. “I’m surprised Ignis didn’t tell you all this.”

 

“I’ve been… sleeping,” his father says, in that vague, lighthearted sort of tone that he uses to shut Noctis down immediately. “Besides, son. I don’t _always_ use Ignis to spy on you. I’m afraid he has a great deal of loyalty for you.”

 

Noctis rolls his eyes, “could’ve fooled me. He and Prom… _don’t_ get along.”

 

“Is that so?” his dad’s expression doesn’t reveal anything. Regis is a goddamn expert at putting on the mask, but his tone… gives Noctis concern. It’s just casual enough to be disarming. “Ignis usually has good judgment.”

 

 _“Dad,”_ Noctis says, in a warning tone, as Prompto scurries back over to them. He’d been fighting with Squish, who had managed to slither into a candy bowl someone left in front of their houses. There’s a half eaten ‘please, only take one!’ sign hanging out of Squish’s mouth, and the candy dish? Well, there’s no candy left, enough said.

 

“What’d I miss?” Prompto asks, cheerfully, trying to fight Squish to get the half-eaten, soggy cardboard out of his fanged mouth. Squishy hisses happily and crams it in further with a tentacle.

 

“Nothing,” Noct says, instantly, giving his father a _look._

“Malboros aren’t from around here,” Noct’s dad says, changing the subject and eyeing Squishy. “And they’re quite temperamental. I’m surprised that he lets you do that.”

 

“Squish is my best friend,” Prompto says, honest, genuine pride ringing clear through his voice.

 

“He’s a little asshole, you mean,” Noctis grumbles under his breath. Squishy reaches a tentacle out and steals a handful of candy from Noct’s bag, in response, offering a multi-eyed glare.

 

Their bags are getting heavy as they make their way further along the street. Their path is easy to follow, because Squishy’s leaving a trail of destruction behind them. He seems to _really_ enjoy gnawing on lawn decorations and stealing candy from unsuspecting kids. Noct’s pointed out at _least_ five times that Squish is gonna make himself sick with how much crap he’s eating. Prompto’s replied, just as many times, that it’s Halloween and they should be having _fun._ Noct’s dad seems torn between amusement and wariness.

 

“I’m starting to think we _might_ be a little too old for this,” Noctis points out, given that other than a few stray teenagers, they’re easily the oldest ones out there.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto replies, as they stop in front of a cute little house, “we look like we’re _maybe_ eighteen. Besides, we have your dad with us. He’s totally our chaperone.”

 

“Heaven knows you need one,” Regis agrees lazily, stifling a yawn. “You children are going to wear me out. I’ll need a nice nap after this.”

 

“Dad, all you do is sleep,” Noctis sighs.

 

“Obviously,” his dad agrees.

 

“Stop arguing! I wanna get candy! This house looks like they give good candy!” Prompto hisses, and the father-son duo promptly stops arguing as he rings the bell.

 

Noct’s not really sure how Prompto gets the idea that they’re gonna give good candy. There’s a few decorations up, yeah, but Noctis distinctly gets the feeling that some of these houses have either a candy budget, or a decoration budget, and not _both._ There’d been a mock haunted house set up that had given them a bag of _plain chips._ It was bullshit.

 

The door opens, and Noctis _groans._

 

“What the fuck are you idiots doing? You’re not kids,” an irritated Nyx grumbles, as he eyes them skeptically.

 

Luna laughs in the background and waves, “ah, I _knew_ I sensed you! You’re in a good mood today, Prompto! It’s been nice to eat some happy moods for once!”

 

Prompto beams, ear-to-ear, and holds out his treat bag. “That mean you’re gonna give us lots of treats!”

 

Nyx sighs. He and Luna have both dropped the glamour for the night, too. They’re dressed in all black, Luna with a wig and a long, sweeping black dress, all low-cut and clinging in the waist and hips. Nyx has a pinstriped suit and a tie.

 

“What are _you_ supposed to be?” Noctis asks.

 

“Duh,” Prompto shoots back, “they’re Morticia and Gomez. _Honestly,_ Noct, and you’re the lazy asshole obsessed with television and mortal pop culture.”

 

“That movie is _ancient,_ how am I supposed to recognize it?!” Noctis grumbles.  

 

“Wasn’t it a comic, before it was a movie? And a TV series,” Prompto replies, smartly, somewhat proud of himself. Noctis glares and gives him a playful shove. So maybe Prompto is _slightly_ more knowledgeable on this one subject, but Noct’s not about to let him win--

 

“The candy is for the kiddos, you know,” Nyx deadpans, interrupting them both.

 

“Squish is _practically_ a baby! Look, he’s got an angel costume!” Prompto grins his brightest smile and holds out the malboro. “Besides. If you refuse to give me candy, that might ruin my mood and then it’ll rain.”

 

“You’re the one _out_ in the rain,” Nyx replies.

 

“ _Nyx!”_ Luna scolds in the background, “I’m having a nice night! It’s a nice treat, eating _good_ feelings for once! Just give them some damn candy.”

 

Nyx grumbles, and Noctis shakes his head, and Prompto looks _very_ pleased. Squishy’s sneaking a tentacle into the candy dish Nyx is holding and stealing a few candy bars.

 

“Fine, Luna. You win. I’ll negotiate with terrorists,” Nyx says. He gives them those gross, orange, pumpkin-pattered gumballs and bags of chips. Noctis, for once, doesn’t mind as much that Squish nicked half the candy bowl when he wasn’t looking. Nyx gives out shitty candy.

 

Nyx offers a handful of the _good_ candy to Noct’s dad, and Regis smiles graciously and accepts it.

 

“I see how it is,” Noctis grumbles, as they retreat, and Nyx gives him the finger behind his back.

 

“Respect your elders, Noctis!” Nyx calls at their backs. The door closes – Luna calling out a goodbye as it shuts – and Noct tips his head to give Prompto a _look._

“And here you said they were gonna give out the _good_ candy.”

 

Prompto sighs, “well, if Luna had answered the door, it _would’ve_ been the good candy.”

 

Squishy burps up a slimy candy bar wrapper, and they both _groan._

_\---_

They’re heading home, their bags full of candy – some of it slimy and wrestled from Squishy’s grasp – when Noct’s dad puts a hand on his shoulder again. “Stop,” he says, in a low voice.

 

Noctis frowns, and he stops. He knows better than to question that tone. It’s his dad’s serious voice, spoken with all the depth and power of an ancient being, one who’s _way_ stronger than an incubus. It’s the kind of voice that Noct knows to simply listen to.

 

“What’s up?” Prompto asks, blinking, but Regis gives a curt shake of his head in his direction, a silent ‘be quiet,’ and Prompto might be oblivious at times, but when Noct’s dad gives a command, it’s _followed._

 

Regis stays silent for a moment. It’s starting to get late, and most of the younger kids have gone home already. There’s just a few older kids – and the three of them – left on the sparse, dimly lit street. It’s as they stand there, under the orange halo glow of a streetlight, that Noct realizes suddenly that he can sense they’re being _followed._

 

Noct’s felt it for a while, now that he focuses in on the feeling. It’s an unsettling tingle of nerves in the pit of his stomach. He’d been enjoying the night, caught up in the _energy,_ in the sense of freedom that really only comes out on Halloween. And spending a day with his dad and Prompto? … well, in a sense, it really _is_ a family outing. If only Prompto got along better with Gladio and Ignis—and hell, maybe next year they’ll invite Luna and Nyx…

 

Right now, Noct almost wishes they did have Nyx, even though he knows his father is stronger, more powerful.

 

“I _knew_ I felt him,” Regis mutters, under his breath, and then, in a louder voice, “Brother. Are you going to show yourself? Lurking in the shadows is _quite_ rude, you know.”

 

There’s silence, though, and no response, and even though Noct feels glowing, amber eyes burning into him, he can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from.

 

Prompto, at that moment, seems to realize something’s wrong, because he’s harshly gripping at Noct’s arm, leaning in, and the clouds start swirling and churning overhead, reacting to his nerves.

 

“Fuck, Noct—that’s the same thing that—”

 

“That attacked you,” Regis interrupts Prompto’s words, cutting through the panic with a clear, cold tone. “Yes. I had feared as much. My brother has… strange plots and unusual motives, at times.”  


“B-brother?!” Prompto starts, but Regis silences him with the lift of a hand again.

 

“He’ll leave us alone, now that I’ve called him out. He tends to _do_ that,” Noct’s dad sighs. “Let’s get home. I’ll ensure that you’re protected, Noct.” There’s a pause, one that Noct’s becoming increasingly familiar with, a pause that he _really_ doesn’t like, and this his father adds, “and you too, Prompto.”

 

The mood’s a little ruined, swiftly returning back home. The clouds swirl overhead, and the sky isn’t clear, but it doesn’t rain, and that much is good. Prompto doesn’t let go of Noct’s arm, though, and Squishy seems to finally have gorged himself sick, because the malboro is bloated and quiet and doesn’t bother to try and escape anymore.

 

They’re standing in the doorway of Noct and Prompto’s place, and Noct’s father pauses, muttering a few words, saying some old, ancient incantation that’s beyond Noct’s knowledge. Even though his dad has raised him, and even though their words are entwined, outright overlapping in places, his dad’s connected to some vast fountain of information that Noct will never have access to. They’re just _different,_ in some very crucial ways that can’t be surpassed.

 

“Your home will be safe,” Regis says, quietly. Prompto’s still leaning against Noct, even as Squishy flops out of his arms – landing on the floor with a horrible squelching noise – and lazily ambles off to go sleep off all the junk he devoured.

 

Noctis frowns. “You aren’t gonna tell me what’s going on, are you?”

 

Regis laughs a little. The whole effect is silly, because he’s dressed like a vampire, but Noct gets the distinct feeling that he’s trying to impart some elderly wisdom upon the two of them. “I don’t _know_ entirely what’s happening, Noctis. Why concern you with something that might not be true?”

 

“Who’s hunting us down?” Prompto blurts out, immediately, and his cheeks flush as he realizes what he’s saying, and there’s a hastily added, “uh, _sir.”_

 

“Regis is fine, Prompto,” Noct’s dad replies mildly. He lifts his arms. One hand settles on Noct’s shoulder, the other on Prompto’s, and his gaze flickers between the two of them. “Boys. I need a nap. I’m _exhausted,_ but you’re damn lucky I was here. I’m going to place protection on the two of you, but no unnecessary risks, you understand? The implications of this—we’ll talk more, when I _know_ more.”

 

“Dad, just ‘cuz you’re old and smart doesn’t mean you need to be cryptic and weird on purpose,” Noctis sighs, but he’s nodding. If his father’s offering protection to Prompto, it means he trusts him, on some level, even though he’s wary of him.

 

“Sure, it does. There has to be _some_ benefit to all this,” Regis replies smartly. “Prompto, get the malboro, as well? I suppose he may also need my protection, just in case.”

 

Prompto blinks, but he doesn’t protest, and he turns to go find Squishy, in whatever dark corner he’s lurking in.

 

As soon as Prompto’s out of earshot, Noct’s dad is leaning in. “Noct, he’s not entirely _your_ kind.”

 

Noctis had half-expected something like this. His dad means well, and he’s extended protection, has offered Prompto a place in his family—but still. He’s overly cautious, and apprehensive of strangers. “Dad,” Noct says, as quietly as he can, “he’s an incubus. He just… I dunno who raised him, but it messed him up a little, I think.”

 

Regis arches a brow at the words, but he doesn’t reveal any insight. “His powers are different. He’s got something else in him. Be careful, Noctis. Be _very_ careful. You’ve already imprinted, but—keep your guard up.”

 

Noct laughs a little, and shakes his head. It seems ridiculous, that he’s getting a lecture and a warning over all of this. It’s in his father’s nature to be curious like this—when he’s not sleeping most of his life away, that is. “Dad. Why are you protecting him, if you’re so worried?”

 

Regis frowns. For a moment, Noctis thinks he might _actually_ talk. It’d be nice, having some answers, because they’ve had _so_ many goddamn questions over the past… fuck, the past few centuries, at this point. But, there’s a triumphant sound as Prompto manages to get Squishy out from the space under the bed, and rapidly returning footsteps. Incubi are not exactly light on their feet.

 

“… because you love him. You’re imprinted,” his father simply says, “and because the malboro trusts him. That malboro is a good judge of character. I can tell. He has kind eyes.”

 

\---

 

Noctis doesn’t feel any different, with whatever protection his dad’s put over him. It’s intangible, but Noct is certain it’s there. His father operates in a different pocket of reality than he does. Whatever he does, it exhausts Regis, and he promises to check in at some point, that he won’t sleep “too long”, but Noct knows his dad. He won’t be seeing from him for a while.

 

Prompto’s chewing his lip nervously after Regis leaves, pacing and waiting. They’ve already peeled off the costumes. Squish has retreated again, to sleep off more of the junk food high.

 

“Did it go okay?” Prompto asks, slowly, as he sneaks in behind Noctis, curling arms around his waist and resting his head on his shoulder. Noct tips his head to the side, nuzzling into Prompto’s horn. It’s finally almost entirely regrown. It’s still a bit shorter than the other, but the spiral is back, and Prompto’s balance – and powers – with it.

 

“As good as it can go with my dad,” Noctis admits, with a laugh. “He likes you. He’s just… old, and set in his ways.”  


Prompto nods, slowly. “… he’s not like us, huh?”

 

Noctis doesn’t really know how to answer that. It’s… a bit of a complex mess, and a little bit of Daemonology 101 and neither of those things are things he wants to get into. “Kinda,” Noctis says, instead, leaning back against Prompto. Noct really likes it when Prompto gets into these _really_ good moods. He’s all full of energy, and eventually they’ll make their way back to bed and go wild, but right now? It’s a little bit of domesticity.

 

Prompto’s arms tighten around Noct’s waist, and maybe he’s going to say more, but the doorbell rings.

 

Noctis blinks. Nyx and Luna aren’t supposed to be here. Out of pure instinct, Noct tugs his phone out of his pocket to check it, and there’s a few missed text messages on the lock screen from Ignis, saying that he’s coming over.  Huh.

 

“It’s Ignis,” Noct mumbles, in a low voice, even though he’s _sure_ that Ignis can hear him quite clearly from the other side. The other incubus has fuckin’ superpowers or something, even for _their_ kind, his senses are so razor-sharp. “… you okay with seeing him?”

 

Prompto nods, after only a brief pause. “Noct, this is my favourite day of the year. It’s a _good_ day. I’ll be fine.”

 

Noctis opens the door, and he’s not surprised to see Ignis. He’s not really surprised to see Gladio, either, an arm hanging off Ignis’s shoulder, leaning in with a lazy smile. They’re both glowing with the energy that sweeps in over the world on Halloween, their horns bright and vivid, tails twitching.

 

Noct _is_ a little surprised to see the clear plastic container of Halloween themed cupcakes Ignis is holding.

 

“Iggy,” Noctis says.

 

“Hello, Noctis. Prompto,” Ignis says, politely, with a nod in both of their direction. Prompto leans in, a little instinctively, shifting closer to Noct’s warmth.

 

“Hey, Ignis. Gladio,” Prompto says, a little weakly. Noct knows that Prompto and Ignis have… butted horns, so to speak, about a number of issues. Ignis has _always_ been cautious around Prompto, and he’d warned Noctis off more than once, and there’s always been an underlying air of caution.

 

“Regis mentioned he was spending Halloween with you,” Ignis says, quietly. “… and we haven’t properly _spoken,_ since you two…” Ignis’s eyes dart up over Noct’s horns, and then over to Prompto’s, and he sighs.

 

“Since you two _imprinted,_ Specs is tryin’ to say,” Gladio adds in, laughing a little and giving Ignis a nudge. “It’s not a dirty word, Iggy, c’mon.”

 

“I’m doing better,” Prompto says, instantly, and even though nobody asked, Noct knows that it’s the question hanging in the air. Prompto’s always felt unworthy, and Noct knows that, and there’s always just been an uneasy air among the four of them. It’s driven Noct crazy for _years_ now, goddamn _centuries,_ and he’s not about to let it bother his Halloween.

 

“Look, Iggy, I _love_ you, please don’t tell me you’re here to lectur—” Noctis starts to say, but Ignis immediately cuts in, interrupting.

 

“We’re _here_ to give you cupcakes. A peace offering,” Ignis says, and he sounds properly dignified, if not a little miffed at Noct’s assumption. Noctis, to his credit, has every reason to be suspicious, given that the last time they’d talked about Prompto properly had been after he’d nearly _died_ and that had been an explosion of emotions.

 

But, hell, Ignis is Noct’s brother, and Gladio’s his brother too. Gladio reaches for the cupcakes – much to Ignis’s annoyance – and he shoves the box into Prompto’s hands.

 

“Can we all just finally suck it up and be a goddamn _family?_ Stop arguing like a couple of brats, Noct. And that goes for you _too,_ Iggy.”

 

Prompto’s smiling, though, as he opens up the box and reaches in to pull out a cupcake, and Squishy apparently decides he can go for a second round, because he’s wobbling in from the bedroom, greedily eyeing the cupcakes.

 

Family. Noctis likes that. It’s a good Halloween.

 

\---

 

By the time Ignis and Gladio leave, that familiar energy has taken over again. Prompto’s bustling with it, and the air’s outright crackling with sexual tension.

 

Noct’s sitting on the couch, and Prompto’s off messing around in the bedroom. Noctis knows that sooner, rather than later, Prompto will be crawling into his lap and laying kisses up his neck, and they’ll be heading into their Halloween tradition of marathon sex.  Noct’s curious, but he’s waiting, as patiently as he can.

 

Prompto doesn’t make him wait long. He never does. Noctis hears the footsteps behind him, and then Prompto’s standing in front of him. Noct tips his head back, and well, _goddamn._ Prompto’s got a lollypop lazily hanging out of his mouth. And, well, he’s arching his back his bare chest jutting forward. He’s all smooth, toned skin, completely naked except for thigh high boots and a ridiculous strappy thong with lines that show off the delicious curve of his hips and pelvis. It’s not regular fabric, either, and Noct _has_ to laugh, even though he’s already _very_ interested, the energy in the room swirling into a deep-seated heat that’s settling right in his belly.

 

“Is that candy lingerie?” Noctis asks, torn between amusement and arousal. Prompto grins, and tips his head to the side. Now that his balance is back, Prompto lifts the toe of his boot, dragging it up over Noct’s shin, to the inside of his thigh, until the heel is pressed _just_ over his crotch, the pointed stiletto just _barely_ brushing in.

 

Noctis takes a deep breath. He shouldn’t be as turned on by this as he is. Or, well, maybe he should be, because they _are_ incubi.

 

“You wanna come to bed and find out?” Prompto asks, with a laugh. He digs in the heel of his boot a little, just enough for Noct to feel the sharp press of heel, rough and a bit painful and _horribly_ arousing.

 

“Think so,” Noctis agrees. Prompto laughs, and lowers his foot again. He spins around – very pleased, obviously, with his returned balance – and makes a bit of a show of jutting his ass out, showing off the delicious swell of cheeks, outlined by ropes of candy, before he lazily saunters off to bed.

 

Part of Noctis wants to make Prompto _wait._

The other part, though? That’s the part that wins out, because Noctis crawls up off the couch. His shirt comes off over his head, and he’s working his pants down his hips as he makes the short trip to the bedroom. By the time he gets to the bed, Noct’s totally naked, and he’s already half-hard, fingers drifting over his cock.

 

Prompto’s risen up on his knees on the bed. His back is arched, one hand planted firmly behind him, hips lifted. The other hand’s lazily stroking over his stomach, tugging at the piercings that peek out visible under the candy straps. Noct’s breath catches, because Prompto looks like a sultry, lazy creature, every bit in his nature today.  His hair’s perfectly mussed, and his eyes are dripping sex appeal, already lidded and needy.

 

“Someone’s excited,” Prompto teases lazily, as his hand drifts lower. Noct could point out that goes for both of them, because the tip of Prompto’s cock is peeking out of the top of the lingerie, and he’s already fully hard, red and swollen.

 

Instead, Noctis crawls onto the bed, and he leans down, licking a heavy, wet stripe from Prompto’s chest all the way down. He pauses to pay special attention to the piercings – and he’s pleased with the moan he gets in response – and then Noct’s tongue is working over the first strappy line of candy. It’s sugary and ridiculously sweet and a bit of the strap starts to melt under his tongue.

 

Prompto gasps, and his hips jerk forward, and it brings the head of his cock in contact with Noct’s lips. He’s already leaking a bit at the tip, and Noctis laughs a little, all warm, soft vibration against sensitive skin, rewarding Prompto with a lick right over the swollen tip, before he goes back to lapping his tongue over the candy.

 

“Goddamn, that feels good,” Prompto laughs a little, hips jutting forward again. There’s a few thin, strappy strands of candy on each side, and Noct laps at one until it’s just a mess of melted sugar against Prompto’s skin, dissolving under the combined wet heat of tongue and the rising heat on Prompto’s skin.

 

“Guess I should lick the _whole thing_ off, huh?” Noctis teases, and he drags his tongue over the bulge of Prompto’s cock, tasting the sugary sweetness in his mouth. It’s going to get all messy and ridiculously sticky, but Prompto doesn’t care, and hell, Noct definitely doesn’t. Prompto’s breath hitches, and Noct’s tongue traces the thick outline of his cock. He drags down the underside, tasting sugar and candy, and it’s vaguely cherry flavoured – Noct’s favourite candy, of course – on his tongue. Prompto’s balls aren’t quite confined by the thin v of candy, either, and Noct tips his head to the side, nuzzling into the exposed, sensitive flesh.

 

Prompto whines his response, and it pleases Noctis. Prompto never seems to fully think things through. When the mood is this intense, when the energy has taken them both so fully? Prompto will be _begging_ to get fucked within five minutes. So, naturally, he puts on the most teasing pair of delicious, sugary candy panties in existence, and shows them off, and he expects Noctis to go easy on him.

 

Noct _never_ goes easy on Prompto. Especially since he knows he has one hell of a night ahead of him.

 

So Noct’s tongue works swirls over Prompto’s cock, through the thin, sticky mess of candy that’s covering him. He licks his way up the other curve of pelvis, to Prompto’s other hip, and nibbles lazily at a strap, breaking off a piece with his teeth and taking his sweet time savouring it.

 

“Noct,” Prompto gasps, after a few minutes of _this,_ of Noctis slowly licking away the sugary concoction, “the point is for you to get me naked and fuck me, y’know.”

 

Noctis responds with a drag of the flat of his tongue right over the blunt head of Prompto’s leaking cock.

 

“That so?” Noct’s voice is low and teasing, hot breath over Prompto’s sensitive skin. He licks another line, hot and heavy, the candy a melting mess around the shaft of his cock.

 

“Y-yeah,” Prompto groans. His hips are lifting, and his free hand, the one that’s not desperately fisting into the sheets, bracing himself up behind him, is tangled in Noct’s hair, trying to tug him closer. Noct makes a sound, and yanks his head away.

 

“Shouldn’t tease me unless you’re willing to accept the consequences,” Noct purrs, and then he dips back in, teasing Prompto’s cock with more teasing licks, base to tip, gentle swipes with the tip of his tongue.

 

Prompto’s a writhing mess after five minutes. Noct’s manage to nibble away most of the candy. It’s messy, and sticky, and they’re absolutely going to have to stumble into the shower for another rough fuck against the shower wall once this is over. Right now, though, Prompto’s erection is painfully hard. It’s red and swollen and outright _throbs_ when Noct drags the tip of his tongue over the leaking slit. He dips down, gathers up the precome, and Prompto gasps, his hips jerking.

 

“Noct, I’m gonna—” Prompto warns, and he’s about ten seconds from coming, just from that simple, delicate touch.

 

Noct pulls his head away, and his hand lifts, gripping rough at the base of Prompto’s sticky cock. “No,” he purrs, and Prompto _whines_ and it’s a half-sob, another sticky strand of precome leaking from his cock onto his belly.

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto groans, “not _fair.”_ Prompto’s tail his twitching and his thighs are shaking and he’s half collapsed into the bed. He’s trying to thrust into Noct’s hand, into his mouth, _anything_ to get that extra bit of friction. So Noct, naturally, tips his head. He licks a hot, cherry-flavoured stripe over Prompto’s pelvis, his fingers dragging feather-light, just the tips, up the underside of Prompto’s cock. He traces a vein to the tip, then back down.

 

Prompto’s breath hitches and he sobs again when Noct’s hand lazily closes around his balls, fondling them and rolling the sensitive sacs between deft fingers. There’s tears in his eyes, pricking right at the corners, when Noct nips at his hip, catching a bit of stray, mostly-melted candy and sucking it into his mouth. The tears outright run down his cheeks and mingle with the thin sheen of sweat coating his cheeks when Noct slides his thumb up the shaft of Prompto’s cock again, tracing a vein, stopping to tease at a particularly sensitive spot right under the ridge of the head.

 

“Just _fuck me,_ Noct,” Prompto whines, when Noct’s fingers tease the head of his cock, his forefinger and middle finger tracing delicate, lazy circles right over the leaking tip. His hips are rocking up. The heels of the thigh-high stiletto boots he’s _still_ wearing – and Prompto’s quite naked, except for the damn boots – are digging into his own thighs as he arches and lifts and tries to get _more._

 

Noct laughs, and he pulls away, about five seconds before Prompto’s gonna come.

 

“C’mere,” Noctis says, and he’s suddenly pulling away, another thin strand of precome connecting his fingers to the tip of Prompto’s cock. Prompto nearly _wails,_ but Noct’s hands are suddenly on his hips, yanking him forward. They move together, a little awkwardly, as Noct settles on his back and tugs Prompto over him. Prompto’s gasping and his thighs are shaking and he almost loses his balance, his cock bobbing heavily between his thighs as he moves.

 

Noct’s grip is steady though, and he tugs Prompto to straddle his chest. Prompto finds his balance easily enough – the regrown horn _helps,_ of course – and he lifts himself up, one hand gripping the headboard, the other gripping Noct’s horn like a handlebar. It feels good, yeah, but the idea is also just hot as fuck, and it has Noct _moaning,_ his hips lifting a little. He’s neglected his own arousal, and that happens often enough when he gets caught up on giving Prompto pleasure, but Noct’s throbbing and aching against his belly, fuck.

 

Prompto shudders, and lifts himself up. One leg’s lifted and bent, the stiletto of his heel pressed into the bed _right_ next to Noct’s cheek, so close that Noct feels the harsh, sharp press cutting into the side of his face. It’s hot as hell. Noct _enjoys_ when Prompto wears the boots, even if he doesn’t say. His fingers rub circles over Prompto’s hips, and Prompto’s rocking into the touch. Noct _knows_ what he wants, but instead, he tips his head, lazily dragging his tongue over the toe of Prompto’s boot, the leather dry, but soft against his lips.

 

 _“Fuck,”_ Prompto hisses, lifting up, nudging the sharp point of his heel in a little harder. “Noct, you’re a kinky asshole.”

 

Noctis laughs a little. He nuzzles in, pressing into the sharp point of heel a little more. It’s a surge of heat in Noct’s belly, a jolt going right through his cock, and he presses wet, lazy kisses over any bit of the leather boot his lips can reach.

 

“Should make you step on my face,” Noct teases, all hot breath, and Prompto _moans_ at the idea. Noct wants it, and fuck, now that he’s brought the idea up? It’ll definitely happen tonight. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he gets a good look at how hard and needy Prompto is. His cock’s red and twitching, damn near throbbing, and the tip is wet again, and it makes Noct’s mouth water.

 

“Or,” Noct adds, his lips quirking up into a smirk as Prompto’s fingers tighten around his horn, tugging him closer again, “you can just sit on my fuck.”

 

“Fuck,” Prompto groans, and then he’s shifting again. He lower his leg and lifts onto his knees again, scooting his ass forward to straddle Noct’s face, and Noct _finally_ gives Prompto what he really wants.

 

Prompto’s not gonna last long, and Noct doesn’t care. His hands shift back, gripping at Prompto’s ass as he opens his mouth and tips his head back and takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Prompto gasps at the sudden wet heat, his hips jerking forward. It’s not the best angle, but he’s leaking heavily, and the musky taste of precome fills Noct’s mouth.

 

Prompto goes a little mindless, as he always does, when he’s this aroused. His hips jerk forward, and he fucks himself into Noct’s mouth, deep and rough. Noct’s never going to be as good at this as Prompto is, but his relaxes his throat, doesn’t choke when the engorged head bumps the back of his throat. All Noct can taste is _Prompto,_ as the other incubus ruts into him, fucks his face, his balls sliding over Noct’s chin with each deep thrust. Noct’s hands are spreading his ass open, a finger teasing circles over his exposed entrance, and Prompto seems torn about whether to keep rocking into the tight heat of his mouth, or back against probing fingers.

 

Noct’s tongue drags hot and heavy over the underside of Prompto’s cock with every thrust of Prompto’s hips. He drags the tip over the heavy vein, back and forth, teasing the underside, his throat clenching and tightening around the head whenever Prompto bottoms out, fucking as deep as he can.

 

“Noct—” Prompto manages, a choked warning, when Noctis crooks two fingers inside, and then, abruptly, Noct _stops._ He pulls his face away, wrenching free from Prompto’s grip, and Prompto damn near _screams._ His hips are jerking desperate and messy, and his cock is wet with saliva and precome, and it outright _twitches,_ his whole body shaking and wrecked as he’s denied his release.

 

“I didn’t say you could,” Noct manages, and his voice sounds wrecked, too, his throat fucked raw from Prompto’s desperate thrusts. Noct’s damn well aware of how he must look. His hair’s all messy and his face is slick, lips swollen and puffy, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. Prompto’s staring though, with wide, blown-out eyes, all brimming with tears.

 

“Please, fuck, Noct, _please,”_ Prompto gasps, and he’s trying not to sob. His erection must _hurt_ at this point, it’s so aching and thick and hard. The pretty flush has spread from Prompto’s cheeks, down his throat and over his shoulders and chest, and he’s trembling, heart pounding and chest heaving.

 

Noct wants to deny Prompto. He wants to keep telling him _no,_ to bring him to the edge and to back off, to let him make a mess all over his belly but never to find that release. Noct tips his head and he eyes that throbbing, aching cock, the head painfully engorged and slick and messy, balls drawn up tight.

 

Noct’s fingers are still inside, too. They’ve stilled, are simply _there,_ spreading him open but not moving, and Noct twists them again, crooking them right into Prompto’s prostate. The other incubus jerks and whimpers and his cock outright twitches and leaks, another thick bead of precome leaking from the tip.

 

“ _Please,”_ Prompto says, again, needier, the single word shaky, hitching with a barely contained sob, “Noct, ‘s too much.” Prompto’s body is about to give out, all overstimulated and hypersensitive, and he _does_ sob when Noct presses his fingers in again, rubbing over that sensitive spot that has Prompto seeing stars.

 

Fuck, Prompto’s wearing off on him, though. Noct’s getting impatient, and his own cock is throbbing with need, dripping onto his own belly in a wet mess. Noct tugs his fingers free – though he pauses to rub them over the rim of Prompto’s ass, a final little tease – and then he’s gripping his hips again, tugging Prompto away from his face, back down his body.

 

“Ride me then,” Noct says, and even though his voice is raw and wrecked from the very thorough face-fuck, he manages to sound properly enticing, all heat and need, “and then you can come.”

 

Prompto whines, and he’s scooting back fully, a little frantic and clumsy in his need. He’s straddling Noct’s hips, and lifting himself up. There’s still final hints of the candy lingerie clinging to his skin, but neither of them are terribly focused on that. It’s a good show, but Prompto’s lost to desire, and Noct’s simply _watching,_ as Prompto rises onto his knee. One hand’s back, gripping at Noct’s thigh, and the other is curling around Noct’s cock.

 

Noct hadn’t even realized how hard he is until Prompto’s gripping the base of his cock, holding him upright, lining up, the head leaving a mess streak of precome over the curve of Prompto’s ass. There’s a moment where Noct simply _admires_ his lover, taking in the sight of how goddamn beautiful Prompto is, all arched, pale, freckled skin on display, muscles rippling with need and arousal. Then, Prompto’s sinking down onto his cock, and they both make needy sounds, and get lost in it.

 

Prompto’s tight and perfect, gripping Noct’s cock so tight, so perfect, that Noct’s immediately lost in the throes of pleasure. It’s fucking stupid how well they fit together. Prompto’s gasping and rolling his hips, lifting up and grinding back down, taking Noctis in balls deep. His thighs tremble and his hips rock in delicious circles, and it’s so fucking good.

 

Prompto just looks _good._ He’s all flushed, panting, and now that Noct’s letting him have a taste of pleasure, Prompto’s _taking_ it. He’s moving, fast and frantic, riding Noctis like there’s nothing else in the world for him – and really, is there? Prompto’s leaning back, his hands gripping at Noct’s thighs, and his tummy’s flexing, his thighs quaking, every single ounce of him focused and dedicated to riding Noct’s cock as hard as he can.

 

Noct grips Prompto’s hips hard enough to bruise as Prompto rises and sinks down on him, and there’s nothing, except for the _feeling,_ and the sound of their ragged panting and skin slapping skin. Noct teases a piercing, and he dips his fingers into the sensitive bump of hipbone, and he doesn’t even _need_ to touch Prompto’s cock, because suddenly, with a fierce press into his prostate, Prompto’s coming.

 

His cock twitches and jerks and he spurts his release hot and messy, coating Noct’s belly, shooting all the way up to his chest. Noct’s close – Prmopto makes the most fucking _amazing_ sound as he’s coming – and he takes over, slamming his hips up off the bed, fucking into the other incubus as Prompto writhes and rides out his release. Prompto’s tight, gripping his cock, clenching around it, hypersensitive and overstimulated, and suddenly, Noct’s own orgasm hits him.

 

The world stop, it completely fucking stops for a moment, everything going black, as Noct comes inside of Prompto, making an utter mess, buried as deep as he can go. They’re _connected,_ everything’s perfect, and the connection that they share, the mark of that goddamn imprint, it’s bright and vivid and outright _flowing,_ tangible between them.

 

It’s sex, and it’s rough and messy and frantic, but it’s so much _more._ Noct’s aware, in this single moment, as euphoria floods his mind, overwhelming him, as they feed on each other, sharing energy, passing it back and forth, that whatever he has with Prompto? It’s _everything._ It’s consumed him.

 

Slowly, they come down together. Prompto collapses, heavy and trembling, covered in sweat and semen, on top of him. Their bellies are pressed together, all sticky, and Noct can feel the pounding of Prompto’s chest against his own. Neither of them talk for a moment, Prompto tucking his head in the crook of Noct’s neck, and all Noct can think to do is to layer hot messy kisses all through his hair, nuzzling and kissing and simply _loving._

 

They’ve come so far. In the beginning, this was entirely a sex thing. Noct had fallen for Prompto the moment he’d seen him, they’d ended up fucking rough and needy and it’d been simply a _thing._ He hadn’t expected it to turn into this. He hadn’t expected sex to become some emotional roller coaster, something that had captured his heart and swept his life up into a whirlwind.

 

Noct’s smiling, as he reflects back on it all. The journey isn’t over, that’s for fucking sure. Hell—it’s just beginning. They’ve been through so much, and they’re finally on the road to being happy. They’re a _family,_ a good proper one, and Noctis? He feels like so much more than a mindless, soulless incubus, destined to drain souls and fuck mortals for all eternity. Yeah, that’s a part of him, but there’s so much _more._

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Prompto asks, lazily, when he finally lifts his head. Prompto’s lips are quirked up into a lopsided smile. He looks relaxed, eyes swirling with emotion, and the horn that was shattered, the one that’s regrown, it somehow seems even _more_ vibrant than usual. Noct loves the streak of purple, and he lifts a hand, gently stroking over the curve of it.

 

“You,” Noctis admits, with a laugh, shaking his head. He knows what Prompto’s going to say, and he doesn’t care.

 

“You’re so fucking soft, Noctis,” Prompto laughs, right on cue, and it makes Noctis laugh, too. He is. He absolutely stopped denying it years ago, and he’s happily soft and domesticated, living this perfect little life with his incubus boyfriend and their dumb pet malboro. Noct’s not sure where Squish is – probably under the bed, puking up remnants of candy and lawn ornaments – but he’s sure, eventually, the malboro will climb into bed and sleep on his chest.

 

For now, Prompto’s decided he’s regained some of his energy, cuz he’s lifting his head, and moving in for a proper kiss, one that’s all head and need. “C’mon, Noct. Halloween’s not over yet. This is our _day,_ I wanna go again…”

 

And, well, who is Noctis to deny Prompto anything?

 

He never will, not ever.

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psych, this isn't the end.
> 
> we are taking a break because our wrists and our minds and our SANITY requires we STOP. But, fear not -- incubus will be back! we'll take a break, and then probably switch to weekly updates. give us a bit of time to recover from this month, and then these boys will return!
> 
> as always, the art is up on numi's twitter, pls enjoy. <3


	33. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Prompto enjoy some tentacles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told Numi ages ago that I would finally write tentacle Promptis for this fic so here we go. <3 now that my little blizzcon break is over, here we go~

“Noctis,” Prompto’s saying, and Noct _recognizes_ that tone of voice. It means Prompto has an idea, and that’s never a good thing. Prompto’s _ideas_ are usually ridiculous. Of course, Noctis loves ridiculous. He loves Prompto, too, and so he’s tipping his head to the side and he isn’t turning around and running the other way, despite instinct.

 

And okay, so maybe Noct’s just a _little_ bit curious.

 

“Prompto,” Noctis replies. He just wanted to watch his dumb cooking show, damnit. The streaming service _just_ got the new episodes. Before Prompto had waltzed in with that look on his voice and that emotion in his voice, Noct had been planning on watching his show with Squishy. The malboro likes his shows too, though Noct suspects that’s just because Squish likes to eat food. He’s also attracted to knives, which is a _whole_ other issue, one that’s led Noct to start using baby-proof locks on everything in the kitchen.

 

Anyway. Noct’s pretty sure his plans are going out the window, because Prompto’s making himself comfortable on the couch next to him. Their horns bump as Prompto leans in, resting his head on Noct’s shoulder.

 

“Spit it out,” Noctis mumbles, “what ridiculous idea you planning?”

 

“Noct, you _wound_ me,” Prompto replies, with a laugh. “My ideas are good ideas. They aren’t ridiculous.”

 

“Yeah?” Noctis isn’t so sure about that. Prompto’s not wearing a costume, at least. He doesn’t seem to have any mysterious packages, either. Noct really isn’t in the mood for a repeat performance of that damn tentacle. Well—the performance itself, maybe, but the aftermath of that had been exhausting…

 

“I _do_ have an idea, though,” Prompto says, after a moment of silence. Noctis _groans,_ and he doesn’t even bother to try to protest. Rather, he reaches for the remote and pauses his show, because he isn’t about to miss this. Squish is curled in his lap, and the malboro makes an irritated, hissing sound and wiggles his tentacles.

 

“Squish and I are kinda busy watching tv, y’know,” Noctis says. The malboro, for once, seems to be on his side, which is surprising, because usually it’s two-versus-one and Noct’s definitely the minority.

 

Prompto laughs, though, “swear it’s a good idea. So. Noct. That dream thing you were doing for a while.”

 

Noctis stiffens, just a little. Prompto’s almost fully recovered. There’s still the occasional moment of weakness, and there’s still times when his powers waver. Though, the thing with Prompto’s powers—he’s _never_ had much control over them anyway, so that might really just be more of the same. Either way, it’s hard, thinking back on those uncertain weeks when they’d had no idea what was going to happen.

 

Noct hates the dream diving, anyway.

 

“You know I don’t do the dream thing,” Noct says, quietly.

 

“I know,” Prompto replies, “but like. Noct. It’s not even _uncommon._ I asked Nyx about it—you guys can _all_ do it?! Why don’t I know this shit?”

 

Noctis shrugs, noncommittal. He hates it when this stuff comes up, too. It’s a reminder that Prompto is _different._ They’ve hashed it over so many times by now, of course, that Noct’s finally convinced Prompto that different isn’t bad. They’ve embraced it. They’ve got the shared colour, and that nice, warm presence of each other echoing in their chests, making their hearts thump. Talking about it is still not easy, though.

 

“I’m better at it than most are,” Noctis simply says, “probably cuz of my dad.”

 

“Yeah, but your dad isn’t _really_ your dad,” Prompto replies, chewing his bottom lip. “Right? I—I don’t understand incubus politics, Noct.”

 

Noctis doesn’t really either, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s a lot of subtleties. His dad’s not an incubus, but he’s close, and he usually appears as one. Most of the stuff Noct knows, Ignis taught him, but he’s picked up on a lot of his dad’s habits, unconsciously, solely by being around him. His dad had mentioned that newborn incubi are _impressionable,_ that their strengths and weaknesses can be molded. It’s a _crucial_ period, for a young incubus, and it shapes them, and Noct had gotten the feeling that his dad had been telling him this for a reason, but… well, Regis, his dad, can be cryptic at times. It’s just in his nature, as much as sleep, and lazing around, and being far too sympathetic to humans is Noct’s nature at this point.

 

“I dunno, Prom,” Noctis sighs. He’s starting to wish that Prompto had just wanted to talk weird kinky shit, or that he was wearing a costume. It’s easier than semi-serious talk about the things they’ve been avoiding discussing. “… how much do you remember?”

 

Prompto shrugs. He’s twisting his hands in his lap, and he reaches over, lazily stroking a hand over Squish’s tentacles. Outside, it’s started to rain, slow and steady, and Noct notices, but it’s a light rain, more a drizzle than anything. Prompto’s a bit agitated, a little upset, but it’s not _storming,_ and that’s good. It’s encouraging. And hell, seeing that his powers are mostly back, that’s reassuring in a way it shouldn’t be.

 

“I remember the beach,” Prompto says, quietly, “… and being really happy. I—think I knew it was a dream, by then, but…” he shrugs. “I dunno, Noct. It felt like you’d created a whole world for me. Was… pretty special.”

 

Noctis flushes, just a little. He tips his head to the side, away from Prompto, and he hopes the other incubus doesn’t see him getting all flustered. Fuck, Prompto keeps teasing him that he’s gone soft, but he really _has_ gone soft, hasn’t he?

 

“I did create a whole world for you,” Noctis admits. He’s lazily petting Squish, too, and the malboro is living it up, appreciating all the attention with gurgling, happy sounds and writhing tentacles. His hand brushes over Prompto’s, and there’s a moment where Noct pauses, enjoying the contact. It’s simple, and fleeting, but it’s solid and warm and _there._

 

“I really do love you,” Noct continues, his voice low, a little hesitant. “Prom, I… I was scared you’d never wake up. I wanted you to have a good birthday.”

 

Prompto’s the one to look away now, and his cheeks are flushed, too, bright red under the splash of freckles. “C’mon, Noct, don’t say stuff like that. We don’t even _know_ if that’s my birthday… it could just be a day.”

 

Noctis shrugs. He doesn’t point out that it doesn’t matter. It’s the day they’re choosing to celebrate. They’ve _chosen_ a lot of things, and that seems like it’s far more important than everything else. Does their nature really matter, if they’re choosing to ignore it? It seems like it’s a big, complicated mess. There’s gotta be a life lesson thrown in here somewhere, right? Maybe that’s it. It’s all about choices.

 

“Next year I’ll take you to a real beach,” Noctis says, and he laughs a little, scratching at the back of his head with his free hand. “… the dream thing. Why were you asking?”

 

Noct doesn’t particularly want to circle the conversation back to that, but he knows Prompto. Prompto brings ideas up, in that tone, for a good reason. Inevitably, they’ll get back here.

 

Prompto tips his head, and his cheeks are still a little red, but he’s wearing it better now, and he looks slightly less unsettled by it all. “Right. So. _Noct._ There’s a lot of missed potential here. You’re aware of that, right?”

 

“Not really sure what you’re implying, Prom,” Noct replies, and it’s totally a lie, because he’s pretty sure he knows _exactly_ where Prompto’s going with this. Prompto’s the more adventurous of the two of them. Which is… hilarious, in a sense, since they’re sex daemons, and weird, kinky sex is second nature to them. For Noct, it’s just a means to an end, though. For Prompto? He’s all about the journey.

 

“ _Noct._ You know exactly what I’m saying,” Prompto says, rolling his eyes. “You can make _whatever you want_ happen in dreams. How awesome is that?!”

 

Noct sighs. “It’s not that simple, Prom. It’s… dangerous, messing around with dreams.”

 

Prompto leans in, though, and his head rests on Noct’s shoulder. Their horns bump when Noctis leans in, nuzzling into the top of Prompto’s hair, and he can’t help it. He loves the other incubus, goddamnit, and it’s taken them so long to get here. It’s been _centuries,_ after all, for them to become fully comfortable with each other, with the idea of being together and in love.

 

“Why’s it dangerous?” Prompto asks. His hand gropes for Noct’s, and their fingers tangle.

 

Noct doesn’t really know how to _describe_ it. “… it’s easy to get lost,” he says, slowly, thoughtfully. “The dream… sometimes it’s better than reality. Sometimes you find things you’re better off not knowing. And sometimes it’s just… getting lost in it, it feels too good.”

 

Prompto mulls that over. “But you’ll be with me. Dreams are nice, Noct, but we’ve got it pretty nice here, huh? I mean—I’m happy.”

 

Noctis blinks. He doesn’t know if Prompto’s ever really spelled it out before. He’s _happy._ Outside, it’s still drizzling, but Noct’s starting to think that Prompto has nothing to do with that, and rather it’s just a natural late fall, early winter day. They’re _happy._ Prompto’s right, of course.

 

“… so what? You want me to go into your dreams so we can have crazy sex?” Noctis sighs. This is a ridiculous idea. It’s a fucking stupid one, and it’s dangerous, but Prompto has this way at smiling him, one where his eyes get all shiny and his nose scrunches up just a little bit, and his hair falls over his face, and—

 

Yeah. Noct’s in love. He’ll do anything for the other incubus, damnit.

 

“Pretty much,” Prompto agrees, offering up another brilliant smile. “C’mon, Noct. You _know_ I’ve got that thing for tentacles…”

 

Oh. Of course.

 

Squishy offers Prompto an _extremely_ offended look and slithers out of Noct’s lap, scurrying off to hide somewhere and pretend that his owners aren’t discussing dream diving to have some crazy tentacle sex. Noct almost feels bad for the malboro. But, fuck, he’s a little bit intrigued by the prospect. He always is. Prompto knows it, too, and he’s grinning ear-to-ear, cuz he’s totally won.

 

\---

 

Noct’s still not entirely certain about this. For one, he’s never explicitly gone into a dream when someone _knows_ they’re dreaming. He doesn’t know if it’ll work. For another, world building on _top_ of someone having a lucid dream? Well, it’s all uncertain. He feels kinda like he’s in that one really stupid movie about dreams within dreams.

 

But he curls up next to Prompto, anyway, and the world swirls and echoes around them as they doze off, and Noct _is_ good at this. He hadn’t been lying. His dad sleeps a lot, and Noct picked up on that nature, and he’d instinctively developed the talents to support it. When Noct’s eyes open again, they’re still lying in bed, but it’s not _really_ their bed. It’s their bed in the dream world.

 

More importantly, Prompto’s stirring next to him. His eyes are blinking open, and his lips twitch and quirk, and he looks around, slightly confused. They’re both naked, Noct on his side curled up next to Prompto, an arm thrown across his belly.

 

“… so I’m not awake right now?” Prompto asks, blinking.

 

“You’re aware that _questioning_ the reality of the dream fucks it up, right?” Noctis sighs, shaking his head. He half expects the world to crumble down around them, but maybe it’s because Prompto’s okay with it, that he’s accepted nothing is real, because it stays steady and present.

 

Prompto shrugs, and sits up. Or, rather, he tries to, but suddenly the bed’s shifting, and there’s great, slithering tentacles writhing up out of nowhere, curling around Prompto’s ankles and twisting and twining their way up his legs.

 

“… holy _shit,_ Noct, that’s cool,” Prompto says, and his voice is a mix of pure fascination and twisted arousal. Noct’s pretty impressed that it worked, really. He’s gotten decent at dream building, thanks to those weeks when it’d been the only way to reach Prompto. And this time? Hell, he feels less guilty, because Prompto seems to be enjoying himself.

 

Noct can only shake his head, as he watches Prompto struggle a little, all in vain, simply to test the binds that hold him. The tentacles are about as real as they can get, given that it’s a dream, and honestly? They’re pretty neat looking. They’re thick and pulsing, with suctions lining the underside, and it must feel good, because Prompto sighs, his thighs parting a little more as the writhing mess works its way up his thighs.

 

“You have _really_ weird fantasies, Prom,” Noct laughs, pressing a kiss into Prompto’s forehead, head tipping to nuzzle into the side of his horn. Prompto gasps his response, and whether it’s from the brush of friction against a sensitive horn, or the fact that there’s a thin, inquisitive tentacle wriggling its way between his thighs, brushing over Prompto’s balls, Noct has no idea.

 

“Fuck—” Prompto groans, and Noctis silences him with a kiss, one that’s all heat and need. Noct himself doesn’t really have any desire to be fucked by a tentacle monster, but goddamn, his cock’s twitching to life between his thighs at the prospect of watching the other incubus be _fully_ violated. Prompto’s clearly into it too, because he’s already half-hard, and the strong tentacles curled around his legs, suckers brushing over his sensitive inner thighs, spread him open wider, until he’s all splayed open and presented on the bed.

 

“You should tell me how good it feels,” Noct mumbles, when they part, and his lips are still brushing lightly over Prompto’s. There’s an urge to keep kissing him, to stare into Prompto’s eyes and see the pure need swirling and building up. But—there’s an enticing show going on in front of him. It’s a show that, honestly, Noct doesn’t think he’ll ever have the opportunity to see again. He shouldn’t be messing around in dreams, after all.

 

“Feels _amazing,_ Noct,” Prompto manages to gasp out, and his head tosses back against the pillow as soon as Noctis is pulling away. Noct sits back, and _watches,_ and goddamn, it’s quite the sight.

 

He’d enjoyed the silly little show Prompto had put on with his stupid tentacle toy. Well—until the unfortunate ending, that is. This, though? It doesn’t even compare. Those strong, thick tentacles have Prompto’s legs spread so far apart it’s gotta be straining his muscle. There’s one wrapped thick around his middle, too, lifting him up off the bed a little. Two smaller tentacles have wriggled their way underneath, past the tight ring of Prompto’s ass, splitting him open there, too. There’s some sort of sweet-smelling secretion dripping down Prompto’s ass, keeping him slick and open, and when the tentacles start pulsing and moving inside, the whole dream world is full of wet, sloppy lewd sounds, punctuated by Prompto moaning and gasping.

 

Fuck, it’s hot. Okay, so maybe Noct’s a little curious about how it feels. Prompto’s already fully hard, his cock twitching and aching and leaking a pool of precum on his belly, and the tentacles are twisting and wriggling as they work his stretched ass open. There’s more liquid dripping down, the rim of Prompto’s ass shiny and slick and a bit swollen from the wide stretch. Prompto’s a size queen though, and when a third tentacle wriggles its way over the swell of Prompto’s ass, the thin tip teasing circles around his entrance, Prompto simply _gasps._

 

“Fuck—” he’s trying to talk, but instead, Prompto’s cock twitches and jumps against his belly, and he’s coming, totally untouched, as the third tentacle wriggles its way into his abused ass. Noct’s eyes are wide, and fuck, he’s got a hand curled around his own cock, squeezing rough at the base to keep from getting _too_ worked up, because Prompto’s back is arching, and he’s making a mess of his stomach and chest, and he’s trying, frantically, to grind down against the tentacles that are splitting him open.

 

“Holy shit, Prom,” Noct manages, as Prompto gasps and moans and writhes his way through the orgasm. If the tentacles care that he’s gotten off—well, there’s no indication. They’re secreting more of whatever the liquid is, and it’s running all slick along the crease of Prompto’s ass and over his thighs.

 

“’s too much,” Prompto whines, and he reaches a hand down, but there’s more tentacles. One curls around one wrist and pins it over Prompto’s head. The other wrist, Noct’s reaching for with his free hand, curling his fingers around and feeling Prompto’s racing pulse against his fingertips.

 

“ _Prom,”_ Noct says, and he’s so fucking hard, so goddamn aching that it’s a physical, pulsing sensation coursing through him. His other hand dips down to squeeze his balls, because Noct’s never gonna live it down, if he gets off so fast to watching Prompto get fucked wide and sloppy by a bunch of dream tentacles. “You wanna stop?”  


It’s an important question. They’ve got a safe word, and Noct can’t tell if Prompto’s blissed out or hurting or probably both, overstimulated and messy. His eyes are all glassy and his cheeks are flushed, and his body’s shining with a sheen of sweat. Prompto’s cock is still half-hard and drooling heavily against his belly. His hips are lifting up off the bed and there’s still three writhing tentacles inside, spreading him open, fucking into him and twisting and writhing against his insides.

 

“N-no,” Prompto manages, and the simple word requires _so_ much effort to say, because the tentacle shifts and pulses and undulates, working deeper inside, and it must be putting pressure directly into his prostate, because suddenly Prompto’s moaning again, gasping and damn near screaming as his eyes squeeze shut and he’s desperately rocking his hips down.

 

Noct’s torn if he should give Prompto the ‘I can make it stop’ talk, but Prompto’s panting heavily. He can’t seem to get enough air, and he just keeps moaning, keeps writhing and bucking and pressing further into the tentacles splitting him open. There’s more swirling around, and the cup-shaped suckers are pressing into Prompto’s skin, caressing his thighs and his stomach and leaving slick trails over every inch of skin.

 

And fuck, Noct doesn’t even realize he’s touching himself until he’s gasping in pleasure, hips jerking as he lazily strokes along the thick vein that runs the length of his cock. His cock twitches and leaks over his fingertips as he teases the swollen head, and Noct has to pull his hand away. He’s too fucking close, given he’s barely touched himself—but he can’t tear his eyes away from Prompto.

 

The flush has spread all the way down Prompto’s cheeks now, down his throat and across his shoulders. There’s two more tentacles, writhing their way across Prompto’s belly, tracing the lines of his toned abdomen, and Noct knows where this is going, but _fuck,_ it’s hot to watch as the slender tentacles curl around Prompto’s cock. One twines tight around the base, _squeezing,_ and the other wriggles its way up his shaft, the thin, flexible tip teasing the head of his cock.

 

“Shit,” Noct mumbles, under his breath, and it’s _hot_ as fuck. It must feel amazing, too, because even though Prompto’s being mercilessly overstimulated, he’s fully hard again, and his cock’s leaking, a sticky strand of precum clinging to the tentacle that’s teasing the tip of his erection. Noctis is damn well aware that he’s staring, but how can he not? Prompto’s all bound and spreadeagle on the bed, so many tentacles holding him open and on display. There’s still the three working into him, and Prompto’s hips keep jerking with every probe of slender appendage against his prostate. And now, he’s achingly hard and leaking again, and those two tentacles are mercilessly teasing him.

 

“ _N-Noct—”_ Prompto’s trying to say, but he can’t talk, because he’s making a desperate, needy sound again, as the slender tip of one tentacle works into the leaking slit of his cock. Noct’s eyes are wide, and he can’t stop _watching._ There’s just a tiny echo of _concern,_ that maybe this is taking things too far, but suddenly Prompto’s whole body is tensing up, and his hips are bucking off the bed, his belly clenching and his muscles going tense as his cock jumps. He’s coming, a dry orgasm ripping through him as the tentacle wriggles down into his shaft, splitting his cockhead open and plugging him, filling him up just the way the tentacles fucking into his ass are.

 

Prompto gasps and goes limp against the bed, his whole body shaking and trembling as the slithering appendages keep _moving._ They keep writhing and twisting into him, and Noct’s half convinced that Prompto’s going to outright pass out. He barely has the energy to moan, his eyes all glassy and lidded and totally blissed out. He looks painfully hard, his cock still fully erect against his belly, the tip swollen and red and being split open by the thin tendril that’s working inside, and there’s that second tentacle still, curled around the base, teasing Prompto’s balls and the base of his shaft, and the thick vein running along the underside.

 

“Fuck, Prom, you look _good,”_ Noctis manages, and he’s touching himself again. He wants to come, and he’s struck by the urge to make a mess, to cover Prompto’s trembling, abused body with his own release, and maybe Noct would, but—

 

Whether it’s intentional or not, a tentacle’s squirming its way up Noct’s thigh, as he shifts to move. Noct’s eyes widen, because it feels _strange,_ cool and slick and oddly nice against his skin. There’s a thought that this is Prompto’s fantasy, not Noct’s, but then his eyes lock onto Prompto’s, and Prompto’s smiling a far-off, distant one, and he nods.

 

“Wanna – _nn –_ see you,” Prompto manages – the words sounding like they’re taking so much effort, because Prompto’s still being fucked, hypersensitive and overstimulated as he is – and Noctis groans and nods, and lowers himself onto the bed next to Prompto.

 

It all descends into a mess of _feeling,_ and after the fact, Noct still won’t be entirely sure of it all. There’s a tentacle pressing, wet and slick, into the cleft of Noct’s ass, and Noctis doesn’t fight it. His grip shifts, and suddenly he’s not holding Prompto’s wrist captive anymore, but their fingers are twined together. Prompto’s gripping Noct’s hand so hard it hurts, his nails cutting in, but Noctis can’t quite focus on one single thing.

 

It feels _good,_ when a tentacle works into him. Noctis groans and he bucks his hips, and the way the tentacle is writhing inside him, twisting and working against his insides, he can suddenly realize exactly why Prompto has such a weird thing for tentacles. Fuck, it feels amazing. The tapered, flexible tip of the tentacle _flicks,_ and suddenly there’s hot pressure exploding in him, heat spreading all through Noct with the first smooth press directly into his prostate.

 

“Fuck, Prom, I—” Noct tries to say, but he’s gasping, because a second tentacle is teasing his rim, running slick and steady over him. It’s like a tongue, but it’s more flexible, more dexterous than a tongue, and the slickness feels nice. Noct’s squeezing at Prompto’s hand, and his legs are spreading, and he’s not as into the whole being stretched impossibly _wide_ thing as Prompto is, but there’s a bit of a burn, and an intense feeling of _fullness,_ and it’s going straight to his cock.

 

There’s another tentacle curling around Noct’s cock, and he’s _lost_ to the sensation. The tentacles wriggling inside of him feel so strange, but so fucking good, and it’s unlike anything else. It’s filling him up, pressing in deep, and the way they’re moving puts constant pressure in all the right places. The heat is spreading like fucking wildfire, and Noct’s so goddamn close already.

 

Prompto’s gasping his name, and Noct can barely even keep his eyes open. He’s nuzzling into one of Prompto’s horns, and that makes the other incubus shudder and writhe under the touch. When Noct musters up the presence of mind to _look,_ the sight of Prompto being tortured by those damn thick, wriggling appendages is too goddamn good.

 

Prompto’s whole body is damn near wrapped up in them. There’s still that one writhing inside the slit of his cock, and there’s two curled around the length of his shaft. Another one’s fondling his balls, and Noct can’t even _tell_ how many are inside Prompto’s stretched ass now, but he’s barely even fucking able to breathe. Prompto looks harder than he’s ever been—and fuck, Noct _feels_ like his own erection is so painfully hard, too.

 

“ ‘m gonna,” Noct mumbles, his lips hot and wet against the curve of Prompto’s horn, and that’s all he can say. There’s a tentacle curling around Noct’s cock, the tapered tip teasing the slit, curling around the ridge of the head and teasing as the thicker part coils around, constricting and squeezing and writhing, and it’s too fucking much.

 

Noctis should maybe be ashamed that he’s getting off so hard on Prompto’s dumb fantasy, on a world that he built solely for the other incubus, but it’s impossible to care. Prompto’s eyes are wild and needy and his gaze seems to narrow, to fixate on Noct. There’s an explosion of pleasure as a tentacle inside tortures him, relentlessly squirming against his prostate, and there’s those other tentacles wrapped around his cock, and Noct’s coming, _hard,_ spurting mess over his own belly, semen dripping down the length of his shaft and coating the thick, wriggling appendages milking him and working him through his orgasm.

 

It’s too much for Prompto, too, and Noct’s only regret is that his vision is clouded, that he’s lost in a haze of pure bliss as he rides his orgasm, as he’s overstimulated by the appendages fucking into him, as his cock spurts another dribbling bit of release all over his trembling belly. Noctis is trying to watch, his eyes wild, his vision unfocused as Prompto throws his head back, as he fucking outright screams. He’s coming again, and the tentacle plugging his cock must have withdrawn, because suddenly there’s a mess splattering all over his belly. Prompto’s mouth is hanging open and he can’t breathe, can’t do anything, as he bucks down against the thick tentacles splitting him open.

 

It’s all Noct can do to try and stay conscious, to press kisses into the ridges of Prompto’s horns, to slowly bring them both down. The pleasure’s overwhelming, and it’s only when the presses of friction into his prostate get too much, only when his flagging erection starts to _hurt,_ that Noct shudders and tries to withdraw. It’s his own damn dream, of course, so the tentacles respond to his will. There’s a bit of a burn, and then a strange _empty_ feeling as they withdraw, slithering away and off the bed, and into the darkness.

 

Noct’s not sure how long they lie there. At some point, he shifts closer to Prompto, gathering the other incubus up into his arms, and when Noct has the energy to properly look him over, Prompto is _wrecked._ His cock is swollen, even as it’s gone soft, and the head looks puffy and raw. Noct would be concerned that it’s painful, but this is a dream, and maybe that’s part of the benefit, because they’ll wake up and this will all be behind them.

 

“You okay?” Noct asks quietly, his voice low against the shell of Prompto’s ear. He’s pressing in gentle kisses, nudging his nose into the line of piercings, and Prompto stirs a little, making a sleepy sound.

 

“That was _amazing,_ Noct, fuck, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Prompto replies, slowly, and his voice sounds wrecked, too. His throat is raw, probably from the moaning and the outright screaming, but he sounds ridiculously satisfied.

 

Noct can’t help but laugh. He’s a little sore, just from his own little adventure, and he can’t imagine how Prompto feels. Lifting his head, the other incubus is covered in sweat and semen and whatever strange liquid the tentacles had secreted, and he’s _sure_ that Prompto’s ass is sore, split open and raw there, too.

 

“You’re a painslut, Prom,” Noct teases. Prompto smiles lazily, but Noct’s arms curl tighter around his waist, and he’s pulling him in. “… you wanna wake up yet?”

 

Prompto makes a quiet, pleased sound, “… soon,” he admits, “… kinda hurts. ‘s a good hurt, but… for now, just stay like this? Hold me?”

 

Noct’s secretly pleased, because he’s happy like this. Even if it’s a dream, and it’s not sustainable for long – and even though he _really_ wants to go back to the real world, to wake up, to be _home_ with his stupid incubus boyfriend in their own bed – he’s still content like this. The moments after? They’re somehow even more important than the sex itself. And of course, that’s probably the most telling, most goddamn _human_ aspect of both of them, right there. Noct’s feeling very full and warm and happy. They’d both fed off this experience, and their horns are both vibrant and bright and, honestly, they’re outright glowing again. Despite all that, despite the important, crucial bits of being an incubus?

 

The moments cuddled together, wrapped up in each other, nuzzling their cheeks and knocking their horns and twining their tails together, they’re somehow so much more important than the actual sex.

 

“We can stay as long as you want,” Noctis agrees. Then, he laughs a little, and corrects himself, “… or, well, maybe not _that_ long. Keeping a dream going is exhausting, you know.”

 

Prompto laughs, and nods. “… can we do this again sometime?”

 

“We’ll see,” Noctis replies, and maybe, just _maybe,_ he isn’t quite as opposed to the dream sex thing as he was before. It’s still dangerous, and it’s wrong, and it’s bending every goddamn rule in Noct’s incubus handbook, but hell, he’s pretty much already set that same damn handbook on fire ten times over, just for Prompto.

 

“You’ll totally cave,” Prompto says, pleased, and Noctis knows that damnit, Prompto is absolutely right. He will. He loves him too much to deny him.

 

“Shut up, before I wake us up,” Noct grumbles, and Prompto laughs, and snuggles closer, and they stay in a dying dream for a little while, until it’s time to return back to reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea how often we're gonna be updating this buuut *shrugs* , we're back into having fun with thiiiis <3 you know where to find us, and there MIGHT be companion spice on numi's twitter ahaha :D


	34. Leaving the Past Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Prompto enjoy the first snowfall of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Companion art here!](https://twitter.com/Numinoceur/status/931647423834865664) Numi always astounds me, and I'm so blessed every time I get to work with her.

It’s the first snowfall of the year. Noctis doesn’t wanna admit that he loves the snow, and Prompto _definitely_ won’t admit it, but fuck, it’s a nice day. They’ve lived through countless years together, of course. That means there’s been endless seasons, that first snowfalls, first warm spring days, first leaves, and first bright, sunny days are a perpetual, endless cycle in their lives.

 

Noct’s dozing, though, when Prompto crawls into bed and wakes him up.

 

“Noct,” Prompto’s saying, with a hint of urgency. Noctis groans and blinks his eyes open, looking around blearily. It’s _early,_ and even though day and night doesn’t mean much to them, he’s tired and wants to go back to sleep. He’s been sleeping on and off (mostly on) for the past four days, of course, but Noct could definitely use a few more days. Prompto’s lying in bed behind him though, half draped over his body, a hand stroking his hip.

 

“Come to bed,” Noctis replies, sleepily, as smoothly as he can manage, but the words still come out awkward and thick as he yawns heavily and closes his eyes again.

 

Behind him, Prompto groans, and there’s lips warm against Noct’s shoulder again as the other incubus presses a kiss there, breathing words into his skin. “ _Noct._ You gotta get up, it’s _snowing.”_

 

Those words rouse Noct a little. He lifts his head up again, blinks the sleep out of his eyes until his vision stops swimming, and sure enough, looking out the window, there’s flakes of snow falling from the sky. They’re thick, wet flakes, too, falling quickly—the type of first snowfall that’s going to stick, instead of just melting into wet smudges against the ground.

 

“What’d you do?” Noct half-teases, as he watches the snow swirl outside the window. “It’s only November, Prom. Did I piss you off?”

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto grumbles, but there’s laughter in his voice. Prompto _has_ caused a lot of freak snowstorms in his time, after all. “It’s not me. I’ve been _bored_ cuz your ass wants to sleep, but I… we’re good, Noct. Really good.”

 

Noctis was planning on getting out of bed anyway, of course, but hearing Prompto say that things are _really good?_ They haven’t been this good in a while. It’s been so hard, and now Prompto’s finally okay, and they’re together. The first snowfall of the year? It’s a nice, peaceful reminder, and maybe Noct’s looking too hard, but somehow, the thought of the snow falling, coating everything in a soft blanket of white, it’s like a blank canvas.

 

It’s like leaving the hurt and the pain of everything they’ve gone through lately behind them. It’s a new start.

 

“You wanna go for a walk? Get some coffee?” Noctis says, as he yawns and shifts and slowly props himself up onto an elbow. Prompto’s still behind him, horns knocking against his own as he tips his head to kiss into Noct’s jaw, and it feels good.

 

“Mmm,” Prompto makes an agreeable sound, “yeah, c’mon, Noct. We gotta enjoy the snow!”

 

Noctis can agree to that much. He doesn’t mind the cold, and snow really _is_ rather nice, when it’s not crazy freak snowstorms brought on by Prompto’s insane mood swings. Hell, when it’s pure nature, when they’re together, and dumb and in love? It’s actually pretty romantic.

 

There’s a few people out on the streets when they finally make their way out. The fall attire will have to be retired to the depths of the closet for another year – though Prompto is extra enough that he’ll probably buy a whole new wardrobe next year anyway – and replaced with nice wintery clothing. They’re wearing cozy winter coats, Noct with a red, knitted scarf, Prompto all wrapped up in fur, and gloves and tall boots. There’s a definite chill in the air, the cold biting into Noct’s nose and turning his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. They’re incubi though, and the cold doesn’t bother them _too_ much – and it’s barely below freezing, anyway – so it’s easily pushed aside.

 

The snow’s already beginning to collect on the ground as they wander, hand-in-hand, along the sidewalk. Their boots leave prints in the dusting of snow covering the ground. Everywhere around them, it’s threatening to turn into a winter wonderland, the wind occasionally gusting and sending the thick layer of snow swirling through the air and rushing around them. Snowflakes land on Noct’s hair and cling to the fabric of his coat, and it’s _just_ cold enough that it doesn’t melt away under the heat of his body.

 

“Winter came fast,” Noct comments, nudging his hip into Prompto’s. The change of season is a welcome one, and neither of them is saying it, but they’re both thinking it. Even though Halloween is Prompto’s favourite season of the year, it’s the domesticity speaking, for sure, for Noct, and Christmas is a close second. He’s grown fond of the holiday over the years, and Prompto’s been dragged right there with him, even though Noct knows the other incubus will absolutely deny it.

 

“It always does,” Prompto agrees. The streets are rapidly emptying of people, the thicker the snow starts to fall, and the more the wind picks up. Some lady on the opposite sidewalk, across the street, is walking a little dog wearing cute, brightly coloured boots and a little dog sweater. It makes Prompto stop mid-step and nudge into Noct as he outright stares.

 

“ _Noct,_ look. We are _so_ getting Squishy some doggy-boots!”

 

Noctis laughs and rolls his eyes. “Good luck, Prom. He’ll eat them.” Noctis can already see Prompto wrestling Squish into little booties for his tentacles, ones that he’ll definitely be cramming into his fanged face the second Prompto lets him go. The thought is hilarious, and it’ll absolutely happen.

 

“No! He’s a _good boy,_ Noct, he’ll let me do it!” Prompto insists, which just makes Noctis laugh even more. The malboro hates the cold, and he doesn’t handle it well, so the coat and the boots are _probably_ a good idea, but it doesn’t change the fact that Squish tries to eat anything Prompto puts on him. Noct’s just not going to get involved with _that._

 

“Whatever you say, Prom,” Noctis agrees lightly instead, and Prompto playfully swats at his shoulder, dislodging the flakes of snow clinging to his coat. They both laugh, and their hips bump and Noct reaches for Prompto’s gloved hand again with his own, giving it a good squeeze, and they both smile.

 

They stop at Noct’s favourite coffee shop again, because now that Halloween is over, they’ve started the Christmas drinks. Prompto mumbles about how it’s ‘too early’ – even though he’s been counting down until they can start celebrating the holidays too - but it isn’t stopping him from ordering a gingerbread latte, and Noct goes with a sickeningly sweet peppermint mocha. Both drinks are piping hot and absolutely piled with mounds of melting whipped cream and sugary topping. It’s very festive.

 

Noct takes a sip of his drink and Prompto laughs at him when he pulls the cup away from his face. “Noct, you’ve got whipped cream on your nose.”

 

Prompto swoops in and kisses the tip of Noct’s nose, licking the lingering bit of cream away from his skin. It’s dumb and stupid, and Noct tugs Prompto closer, hooking an arm around his waist and tipping his head to properly steal a kiss.

 

“You _taste_ like whipped cream,” Noctis replies, against Prompto’s lips. They both smile, and Prompto’s eyes are swirling with emotion, all alight with the strange magic that seems to come alive with the first snowfall of the year. Prompto’s cheeks flush a little more, and it’s not just from the cold, and he nuzzles into the crook of Noct’s neck, shivering a little as the snow clinging to Noct’s scarf brushes over his cheek.

 

“Better enjoy it while we can, huh? Gonna be freezing soon,” Prompto mumbles, as Noct shifts a little, tugging him into a tighter embrace.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, “it’ll be nice until the first time you get mad at me. Then we’re living in six feet of snow and minus forty for a few months.”

 

“ _Noct,”_ Prompto grumbles, and there’s a sudden, harsh surge of wind that accompanies his words, one that cuts right through Noct’s comfy, warm clothes and goes right into his bones. Yeah. Gonna be a long winter. But right now? They’re both happy. Well, mostly. “Don’t tease me!”

 

Noctis laughs, “hey, think the city’s finally gotten good at dealing with the freak snowstorms. Just means we’ll have some _really_ good makeup sex during the middle of a snowstorm.”

 

“You’re a jerk, Noct,” Prompto replies, but he’s smiling and that heavy burst of wind dies down into something gentler again, the snow still falling in thick swirls from the grey, clouded sky. It’s welcoming though, and the world is a blanket of white. The presence of people outside dwindles as they wander, until it’s just the two incubi, hand-in-hand. They both finish off their drinks well before they’ve fully cooled, and then they simply _walk,_ teasing and joking and feeling like this new change of seasons is really bringing a little burst of sorely needed peace to their lives.

 

“Your jerk,” Noctis agrees, and he leans in, bumping their noses together and stealing a slow, lazy kiss, under the snow and the early winter sky, the two of them alone in this pristine, white world, and everything is perfect for a little while. They stop at a park, and there’s just enough of a scraping of snow on the ground to put together a little, miniature snowman, one that’s barely more than a few half-assed, crumbling snowballs, but Prompto kicks through the light coating of snow and finds a few pebbles to stick eyes on the thing.

 

“It’s missing the horns,” Prompto points out, as they step back to abandon their silly little snow creation, so Noct snaps a few twigs off a nearby tree and sticks them at awkward angles from either side of the crumbling snowball-incubus’s head, and they both laugh.

 

“This is the lamest thing we’ve ever done,” Noctis says, but Prompto takes a few photos anyway to text, probably to Nyx, who will most assuredly roll his eyes and make fun of them to Luna, but whatever.

 

“We’ll make a real one first snowstorm,” Prompto laughs, once he’s satisfied, and puts his phone away, “guess we need to get in a fight now! _Noct,_ we can make a snow malboro! Squish would love it!”

 

“That’s an awful idea,” Noctis sighs, but his phone’s chiming in his pocket, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes Prompto’s sent _him_ a picture, and also snapped a few incognito photos of Noctis assembling it. Great. He’s officially an accomplice. Whatever, it’s fun, and like this? It really does just have that constant vibe of a clean, new world, a beginning where they can put the pain of the past behind them, and Noct can’t really be _that_ annoyed.

 

The sun is setting when they return home. Time doesn’t quite operate the same way for incubi, and Noct’s of the opinion that humans like to rush things a whole lot. Of course, Prompto’s got that impatient streak, the one that usually comes out during sex, and it’s always present in _some_ way.

 

The snow has slowed significantly by now. There’s a couple of inches on the ground, and it’s a lazy trickle drifting down from the sky all around them as they head inside. It’s dark out, except for the orange halos of the street lights, and the whole world is quiet and romantic. Noct leaves his coat draped over the end of the couch, and his boots are wet as he kicks them off. Prompto rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath as he rushes in behind Noctis to clean up properly after him.

 

Squish rouses on the couch, one eye-stalk lifting to look at them, his tentacles wiggling, before he turns around and curls back up again and drifts off to sleep once more. The snow’s gathered along the window sill when Noct returns to the bedroom. He leaves a trail of clothing behind him as he peels them off and crawls back into bed. Even though the cold doesn’t affect them, Noct’s skin is still freezing, and the heat working through him makes him feel tingling pinpricks of heat as he dives back under the covers.

 

“Already back in bed?” Prompto sighs, leaning in the doorway, as Noctis dives under the sheets and makes himself comfortable. Noct’s sleepy. He’d intended to sleep the day away, and the snow had been a welcome change of plans, but now he’s exhausted and cold and very ready for bed.

 

“ ‘m tired,” Noctis agrees, curling up and tugging the blankets up higher, until he’s all nestled warm and happy underneath. Outside the window, the snow is finally dying down almost entirely, only a few small, stray flakes drifting down. The first snowfall of the year has come, and now it’s ending. There will be countless more, of course. There will be holidays, and laughter, and smiles, and a lot of stupid, ridiculous antics, Noct’s sure.

 

For now, though? Noct’s pretty happy. It’s been a good day.

 

“Come to bed?” Noctis mumbles, craning his neck as he lifts up a little and looks over his shoulder at Prompto. The other incubus is trying his best to look _annoyed_ as he leans against the doorframe, but his lips are quirked up into a smile and there’s laughter in his bright eyes. Noct _knows,_ anyway, that Prompto’s happy right now. He feels it, right in the space between his ribs, and in his chest. Prompto’s a warm presence, and as their bond grows _stronger,_ he can feel the shared emotion between them.

 

Prompto doesn’t reply. He doesn’t hesitate, though, stepping inside, tugging his shirt over his head and wiggling his hips as he slides out of his pants.

 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Prompto grumbles good-naturedly as he slips into bed. His hands are still chilly as they press flat against Noct’s stomach, arms encircling his waist. Noctis shivers and jumps under the cold touch, but Prompto’s hands warm quickly and they’re _both_ laughing at how silly they’re being.

 

Noct’s given up on pretending he isn’t foolishly, stupidly in love, in a ridiculous, _human_ kind of way. Prompto’s long given up on pretending he cares, even as he teases and grumbles about it.

 

“You’re warm,” Prompto points out, with another little laugh, as the heat grows between them, chasing the cold away. His hands feel good, and so does the warmth of his chest, body curled around Noct’s back.

 

“You’re _freezing,”_ Noctis points out, in return, even as he presses himself back against Prompto, sighing at the contact. There’s something comforting about sharing this moment together. It’s another year they’re living together, another reminder that all the pain and sorrow is behind them—at least, for now it is.

 

Prompto’s lips are hot against the back of Noct’s neck as he presses a kiss there, and it’s all heat. There’s affection, too; it’s a mixture of lust and love and everything in between, and it’s something that’s utterly _them._ Noctis makes a quiet, happy noise as he scoots back against Prompto, and he tips his head back to steal a kiss. The angle’s awkward, his neck straining as he cranes it back, but it doesn’t matter. Prompto’s lips are still a little cold, but Noct’s tongue sliding over them warms him up.

 

Prompto’s hand is drifting down Noct’s stomach, and now that his fingers are warmed up, Noctis doesn’t mind when fingers curl around the base of his cock, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. Noct’s already half-hard, just from that kiss, from the bit of touching, and he rocks his hips back, pressing the curve of his ass into Prompto. The other incubus, of course, is already hard, his cock lazily dragging along the cleft of Noct’s ass.

 

“Fuck, Prom,” Noct’s voice is a little rough, as the kiss breaks, “you wanna?”

 

Prompto laughs. His hips are rolling forward, slow and lazy, but he pauses, drawing back, his lips tracing a wet line along Noct’s jaw, before he’s shifting them. Prompto tugs Noctis down onto his back on the bed, and he’s moving to straddle his hips, a ridiculous little smirk written all over his face.

 

“Since when do you _ask_ first, Noct?” Prompto teases, as he lifts himself up onto his knees, reaching back, a hand firm around the base of Noct’s cock as he lines up. There’s a long, teasing moment of Prompto poised like that, the head of Noct’s erection sliding against his ass, teasing Prompto’s rim. And he fucking looks _good_ like that, and Prompto knows it. Noctis rests his head back against the pillow, his eyes locked onto Prompto’s swirling ones. Prompto’s all flushed already – partly from arousal, partly from the contrast of cold to warmth – and his breath’s shallow. His hair’s tousled and he looks _terribly_ pleased with himself.

 

“You look good, Prom,” Noct groans, and Prompto laughs his response. His back arches and he’s lowering, holding Noct’s cock steady as he sinks down onto him. It feels amazing, it always does, and Noct’s hand lifts, settling on Prompto’s hip, fingers flexing over the line of piercings, as he’s fully enveloped by tight heat.

 

“Yeah?” Prompto teases, though this time, the laugh is punctuated by a needy moan, as he bottoms out, Noct’s balls pressed heavy and full against his ass, “I look good riding you, huh, Noct?”

 

“Mmm,” Noctis agrees, and the sound comes out with a bit of effort, because Prompto’s started _lifting,_ damnit, his hips pivoting as he rises up partway, before sinking back down, taking Noct in fully again, “fuck, Prom, keep going.”

 

Prompto’s lips quirk, and his hips rock forward, as he grinds down on Noct’s cock. “Like I’m gonna stop,” he laughs, the words punctuated with a moan. Noct tries to laugh in response, but Prompto clenches around him, all tight and needy, and he moans again, louder and more desperate. The angle’s a good one, Prompto’s back arched and his hips tilted, and the swollen, leaking head of Noct’s cock is grinding right into Prompto’s prostate with every roll of his hips.

 

Noct’s finger are rubbing little circles over Prompto’s hip, teasing the line of studs, tugging, and that gets him a _nice_ sound, Prompto’s head tossing back and his hands settling on Noct’s stomach as he leans in. Prompto’s moving faster, and his cock’s bouncing against his belly, smearing precum as he moves. His thighs are flexing and his tummy’s clenching, and his nails dig into Noct’s stomach, leaving harsh little lines. It’s a vague jolt of pain, mingling with the pure _pleasure._ Noct’s cock is twitching, and the world doesn’t exist, nothing exists, except them.

 

Their eyes meet, and Prompto’s are wild, swirling with emotion as he grinds down, as he seats himself fully on Noct’s erection. There’s the lewd sound of skin on skin, Prompto making needy, desperate sounds as he’s stretched wide and open, as Noctis thrusts up, meeting him, each thrust grinding the blunt head of his cock directly into the spot that has Prompto seeing stars.

 

“Noct—I—” Prompto starts to say, and Noct slides his hand down, from its place settled on Prompto’s hip, tracing the defined curve of his pelvis, curling around his cock and jerking him in rough, heavy strokes. Prompto’s already achingly hard, his erection slick with precum, and his hips jerk forward, fucking himself into Noct’s grip.

 

“Yeah,” Noct mumbles, breathless, “c’mon.” Their tails are tangled together, and there’s a dim light in the mostly-dark room, but their vision is sharp – they’re incubi – and Noct can see the streak of purple standing out bright and vibrant on Prompto’s horns, against his mussed blonde hair.

 

The words are all it takes – they’re all it _ever_ takes – and Prompto’s gasping, throwing his head back and working his hips in frantic, desperate circles as he grinds down, as he takes Noct in fully, and then he’s coming. Noct’s thumbing over the tip of Prompto’s cock and working him through it, and there’s a thick, messy spurt over his fingers, as Prompto rides out the orgasm.

 

Noct tries to hold on, but it’s futile, because Prompto’s grinding down on him, pulling him _deep,_ clenching so damn tight it almost hurts, and he’s following, moments later, spilling within Prompto and gasping through his release. Prompto’s fingers are shaking, trembling as they dig into Noct’s stomach, and he’s trembling, violently, waves of pleasure wracking through him as his cock drools, slowly softening against his belly. His motions slow, until finally, he’s leaning forward, collapsing against Noct’s chest, all sweaty and messy.

 

Noct’s still inside, and he doesn’t make any effort to withdraw, not yet, instead wiping his messy hand on Prompto’s thigh – the other incubus grumbling, but otherwise saying nothing – and curling his arms tight around Prompto. Prompto makes a quiet sound, and nuzzles into Noct’s chest, and around them, the world slowly comes back together. There’s a few final flakes of snow drifting down from the sky, and a small dusting of it stuck to the windowpanes, but otherwise, it’s silent outside, a quiet, cold winter wonderland.

 

Inside, they’re together, their chests heaving. Noct lifts up a little to press a kiss into the curve of Prompto’s horn. Prompto shudders and makes another of those quiet, needy sounds, and he’s a bit overstimulated, a bit of a mess – as always – but Noct only presses another wet, messy kiss in, tongue teasing one spiraled edge.

 

“Noct!” Prompto sighs, shifting his weight, finally lifting up and away, breaking the contact between them. There’s a strange sense of loss, even though they’re sticky and messy from the sex – another reminder of really, how _far_ they’ve come.

 

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, Prom,” Noctis replies, a tease, and there’s a flicker of emotion over Prompto’s face, a softness that maybe never existed until recently. They’ve been through a hell of a lot together, there’s no denying that. And Noct? He’s pretty sure it’s changed Prompto. He’s pretty sure that on some level, it’s changed some essential, basic part of the other incubus, and he can’t explain it, but… it’s a good thing.

 

“Shut up, Noct. I love you,” Prompto grumbles, but he’s settling back down on Noct’s chest, and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. It’s a nice little dichotomy between the rough marks on Noct’s stomach from Prompto’s nails digging in, almost deep enough to draw blood, and the gentle kiss Prompto presses in against his skin.

 

“Christmas soon,” Noctis says quietly, as his eyes drift shut, as they both start to doze, “you remember our first one together?”

 

Prompto scoffs, but he snuggles in close, and the action totally betrays his feelings of the matter. “I remember _everything_ we do together, Noct,” he says, and those words, too, give him away. “That’s the year we fucked in the snow.”

 

“Prom, we fuck in the snow every year,” Noctis points out, his laugh twisting into a yawn as the sleep starts to take him.

 

“Yeah, but… it was our first year. It was special,” Prompto mumbles, and he’s definitely sleepy too, because otherwise? He might not be making such confessions. Or hell, maybe he would, because they both tend to get into a _mood_ around the holidays, and with Squish? It’s only gonna get so much worse.

 

“Every year’s special,” Noctis says, and then he drifts off, and he’s too gone to hear Prompto mumble back that he’s soft, and then a quiet, almost hesitant, “that’s because you’re special, Noct,” that’s whispered against his skin. Noct doesn’t need to hear it, though, because he already _knows._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, Part 1 is done! Worry not though, about the 'complete'... there is going to be a part 2, to bring in the new season!! <3 we're committed to this AU, and we have so much love, and lots of fun things planned!! get ready!


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